


~When Love Breaks You~

by Kairat11



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Jensen, CBB16, Cockles, Cockles Big Bang 2016, Dom Misha, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Jenmish, Light Dom/sub, M/M, POV Jensen Ackles, POV Misha, Polyamorous relationship, Rimming, Sub Jensen, Top Misha, cursing, mishjay, safe sex, wives to the rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-06-10 14:52:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 51,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6961546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kairat11/pseuds/Kairat11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen and Misha have been in a committed polyamorous relationship for the last two years. Everything seems to be going well in every aspect of their lives. They couldn't ask for more amazing wives and loyal friends to support them, successful careers or unparalleled feelings between them. </p><p>Yet there were these feelings of fear, doubt, and insecurity thrumming below the surface. Feelings that would drive one of them to make a decision that would tilt their world upside down. </p><p>Is it possible to fix what love has broken?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ~Together~

**Author's Note:**

> Hello honeybees, 
> 
> I am so excited to share this story with you. A lot of hard work and soul, long hours and days went into this project. The idea for the story had been floating in my head for quite some time. Many posts on Tumblr inspired me, but I took plenty of liberties and added my own twists. I hope you like it. 
> 
> I received a lot of help in this project and I need to highlight three people that made it possible. 
> 
> First of all, I have to thank [Valkayakismess](http://valkayakismess.tumblr.com) for the amazing art she created for this story. Thanks to her this fanfic has art when I thought it wouldn't. 
> 
> Many thanks to [Aziraley](http://aziraley.tumblr.com) for beta reading this long little monster. I learned a lot from you. 
> 
> And last but definitely not least, thank you Squishy [l-prismatique](http://l-prismatique.tumblr.com) for all your support during this long project, for listening to my whining and helping me calm down from my anxiety attacks. You are the best!
> 
> Happy reading, enjoy!

_**Why, somebody, why people break-up**_  
 _ **Ohhh, turn around and make-up**_  
 _ **I just can't deceive**_  
 _ **You'd... never do that to me... (would you, baby?)**_  
 _ **Stayin' around you is all I see**_  
  
_**(Here's what I want us to do)**_  
  
_**Let's, we oughta stay together**_  
 _ **Loving you whether, whether**_  
 _ **Times are good or bad, happy or sad... Come on**_

**~“Let’s Stay Together,” Al Green**

**  
**

** Oct. 2011 **

“C’mon Jen, let me take a picture. _You look so good like this_ ; I promise I won’t post it, please.” His right hand smoothed up his lover’s bare chest easily; it caused a mild shiver and a flutter of long lashes. The green and golden speckled gaze that seized his sleepier one, combined with ruddy freckled cheeks and lips so red they resembled ripe pomegranate seeds, made him even more inebriated than he already felt. The pristine white leather headboard and sheets accentuated sun-kissed skin; it beckoned him to touch, feel, taste, smell, and consume. The aroma of aged red wine twirled up his nostrils and intoxicated his senses; he was dizzy with desire, his hands made giddy by the heat seeping into his pores.

Jensen was such a beautiful man, inside and out; a mix of strength and vulnerability, insecurity and imposing presence. In the almost two years they had been together, he had never ceased to be wonderstruck by him and the reality that they are in a committed polyamorous relationship. _Who would have thought that from that awkward first meeting and the negative opinions they had of each other, something so serious would emerge?_ Everything in Misha’s life was good; despite his character being kicked to the curb and no longer a series regular; he has an insanely intelligent/supportive wife, a super fucking cute son, and a life-changing non-profit organization, fantastic friends, and… _him._ If it weren’t for their amazing wives, they wouldn’t be here; this piece of happiness would have been an ephemeral dream.

“What are you smiling about? Are you drunk?” _Yes, so very drunk, but on your scent and body heat_. Ah how he wished he could say those words, but his coworker would only roll his eyes and take it as a joke. An unexpected jolt bruised his heart and his mind reeled with a deafening thought, which effectively whited out his smile. _What if for Jensen this relationship isn’t as serious as it is for me?_ It’s true they had been together for almost two years, but sometimes his lover’s reactions towards him were disconcerting. Flirting was okay only if J initiated it, and if Misha happened to say something too suggestive, Jensen would distance himself and fulminate against his behavior.

He was still submerged in bitter thoughts, when a broad hand on his exposed right shoulder pulled him up for air. A surprised gasp froze him in place, as insistent fingers kneaded tense muscles. A furrowed brow and curious eyes searched his wide blue ones; his left hand clutched the cool wine glass as if trying to anchor him. At the same time his right hand’s fingernails dug into his jean clad thigh. Almost forcefully, a swallow made it down his arid throat, while his waterlogged eyes evaded searching ones and his tongue tried to hydrate his semi-chapped lips. A nod was his first reaction to the unasked question written on green papyri, before his words spoke over the voices coming from the TV.

“I-I’m fine and no, I am not drunk...maybe just a bit tired.” Misha was exceedingly thankful that his voice didn’t reflect the maelstrom of his emotions; _how did I manage to plummet from bliss to despondency in a matter of seconds?_ It must be his exhaustion getting the best of him. J had shown him his commitment and the strength of his feelings; he was just being ridiculous, an easy target for his pessimistic side. The alluring body a few inches away from his shifted and from the corner of his eyes he descried a soft quirk of lips. With that simple expression, the riot in his heart ebbed a smidgen; the only other person capable of such a feat was Vicki, her voice was sometimes the only thing that could make everything better.

“Hmm, are you sure?”

“Yes, don’t worry.” He was about to bring the wine glass to his lips when his cell rang; one glance and he confirmed his suspicions— Jared. At another time or in another mood, he would have been irritated at the interruption, but a distraction was what he desperately needed. Yet when his hand attempted to reach for the phone, his lover’s left hand intercepted it. His head turned to meet a determine countenance. At the lust pulsing in those pupils his mouth became a river. His body stood immovable as though he was a marble statue at a museum; only the fire blazing the skin of his hand reminded him of his humanity.

The handsome face he had outlined and covered with kisses countless times leaned in; it was so close to his that he could count the breaths mingling with his own. This time he couldn’t free his gaze, it had been secured under innumerable locks. “Ignore it, he’ll get tired of calling and give up. Now take the damn picture and then _fuck me hard_.” Everything about those words dissipated every torturous thought from his mind, like gusts of winds parting thick fog.

Even though his mind was struck dumb, his body reacted instinctively; upturned lips erased the unsightly mask of doubt that had attached to him. His heart bubbled with unbridled excitement, the feeling turned his blood into an unnamed narcotic and made his flesh sizzle. He wanted nothing more than to let his animalistic urges take over and hear his lover babble; to make his mind a white canvas and write his name on it over and over again with indelible black ink. _Where was this crippling fear of this being a lucid dream coming from? Why can’t I escape it?_

“Hey, _Mish_ , what’s going on with you tonight? Did you hear what I said?” the raspy low voice full of concern snapped him out of his musings, and this time he fought the pull of the toxic voice inside his head.

“I am fine Jen, don’t worry. Like I said, I’m just a bit exhausted; it was a busy day with the panels, autographs, and photo ops; organizing the trip to Haiti, and getting everything ready.” His words were truthful and not just an attempt to veer the conversation to safe harbor.

“Oh, so my offer will have to wait then.” _Jensen was horrible; how could he say that whilst he peeks at me through veils of lush lashes?_ It was unthinkable to say ‘no’ to his favorite shade of green, to those plush scarlet lips that enticed him like the light did moths. Slowly and without unlocking gazes, his left hand set down the wine glass on the wrought iron bedside table. Then, he grabbed his phone at the same time as he turned his body to face his partner. His right hand lifted and inched closer to the attractive face luminescing with mischief; each finger desirous to arrive first and revere seductive lips.

Misha shook his head and clicked his tongue, his left eyebrow rose and a smirk tugged his lips in response to Jensen’s agape mouth and stuttered breathing, his tongue deliberately swept over his own wine honeyed lips. The action drew polished emeralds where he wanted them; lazily he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and then let his teeth scrape it provocatively. He noticed broad hands clutch the soft cotton sheets and a chill dot fevered skin with goosebumps; warm breaths dashed out of parted lips and a deep pink flush watercolored delicate cheeks, all the way down to a strong chest. The straining cock trapped in his jeans was half of a set; J’s erection matched his own. Just imagining the exposed rosy head dribbling pre-come was enough to make his manhood twitch with impatience. But first things first; take the photos and _then_ give into mollitious desires— utterly self-indulge in the heat of his man.

His index and middle finger won the race, and landed as feathers on the precious juicy lips. One touch and green fields were hidden by heavy eyelids and fluttering lashes. Finger pads moved with liberty over entrancing, early spring pink magnolias. Tender, kissable, delicious, and sweet—Jensen’s lips; not having them would be a tragedy.

“Nuh-uh, your offer can’t be taken back, I won’t allow it. _I will eat you up piece by piece, savor your nectar, and then fuck you until you forget how to breathe_ ,” he murmured the words in his lover’s ear using the gravely Cas-like voice he knew would reduce him to molten flesh. The results came without delay; Jensen’s breath hitched and jadeite eyes flew wide open, a gasp coupled with a deep moan soared out of his throat and the tip of a scorching tongue lapped his finger pads.

“ _Shit_ , just do it _Mish_ , now, c’mon… _please_.” That was a low move; someone knew what buttons to press, such pretty begging. He won’t deny him, but certainly will delay it a bit. A little punishment always added to their foreplay; some more begging was definitely required. His thoughts were so distracted fantasizing, that he didn’t notice when the man in front of him rid himself of his jeans. The hands scrabbling with _his_ belt broke through his daze and though he felt satisfaction at his partner’s eagerness, he voiced his thoughts in a commanding voice.

“ _Jensen_ , stop,” at the way his name was called, the hands stilled and obeyed; liquid green eyes glimpsed up contrite, but mostly passion ridden. He almost succumbed to them as if a dry leaf set on fire, yet his dominant side surged and stayed him.

“You are being extremely _naughty_ today _Ackles._ Is this your way of asking for a _spanking_? Do you want me to slap your ass cheeks until they are red and tender?”

A myriad of words could never be as eloquent as the hooded eyes staring at him pleadingly or the pert nipples tempting him. He felt pre-come wet the head of his dick and the firestorm in the pit of his belly broiled him whole. _Enough of this game_. If he kept going, they’ll both come untouched and he definitely didn’t want that.

“Let me take the pictures first…,” his voice trailed away as J nodded and sat back against the headboard.

“You promised not to post it; I’ll hold you to that, and please erase it from your phone as soon as you transfer it to your computer.” The speech was always the same every time he took his picture, but he understood how important it was to be discreet.

“Promise, cross my heart; now don’t move,” a few clicks and close-ups, and he was done. His heart thumped and pirouetted behind his ribs, because his personal Jensen gallery was growing bigger. Since his attention was entirely on the precious pictures, he didn’t noticed when his lover moved closer until the raspy voice swam into his ear.

“Why are you drooling over pictures when the real thing is next to you, waiting for you to _fuck_.” _Damn_ that was completely unfair; how such common words had the power to make him swoon with want, as if he was a horny virgin teenager.

A broad hand ghosted down his arm and plucked the cell out of his grasp; he didn’t pay attention to where it landed, because he was deliriously mesmerized by a gaze greener than any forest during the spring. Blood-red lips hovered near his own and blanketed his skin with lukewarm breaths; a blink and a flutter of eyelashes, an erased distance and a hand pulling all he wanted closer; a coalition of lips that persuaded strong arms to coil earnestly around ablaze bodies and conjured relieved sounds of pleasure. Wine-seasoned tongues swirled inside dark caves as though exhilarated ballroom dancers; Jensen’s hands traveled up and down his scorching back in frenzy. They trembled when his fingers buried in short brown hair and tugged with slight force. Another moan unearthed from his J and swallowed down his throat; he will collect all of them and compose a sinful symphony to replay when distance keeps them apart.

Teeth lightly nipped the reddened skin of each other’s lips; tongues traced one another with unrestrained delectation, whilst their hands roamed the unmapped lands of their flesh. His lungs felt like they were smoldering, victims of his partner’s vicious breath theft; every touch and shiver felt hallowed, as did each nibble and suck. J was a kind of force he wanted to believe existed, but never had the honor of experiencing until they met, and then plummeted into this metal melting furnace. “Mish, I-I, c’mon,” in between crashing kisses and hair pulling, jaw biting and ear licking, Jensen pleaded with a croaky voice. The energetic twitch of his cock and the light quake of his body warned him to quit prolonging this dangerous play.

“Shh, lie down and take off your boxers.” He was impressed his voice sounded unaffected, when the blood in his veins felt like a pot of soup on high heat.

A hard swallow and a heaving chest and back; a heavy lidded jadeite glance and his words were immediately heeded. Without fail, J’s obedience and submission were his uncontested aphrodisiac; such trust reduced him to an emotional mess— it multiplied the whorls of desire in his bloodstream to amounts unknown. While the man holding his sight hostage did as he was told, he got out of bed and striped; malachite eyes registered his every move and once bare, he felt the rapacious thirst in them milk his erection. Of course his dick responded enthusiastically and a pleasurable chill sprinted up his spine; his reaction was mirrored by the glorious body resting on white sheets. Jensen waited for him impatiently; long and taut legs splayed seductively, whilst deft fingers busied themselves by rubbing at a pert nub and others curled around a semi-hard length, and then began to pump sluggishly. Freckled skin gradually colored a rich pink tone and his hunger flared violently.

“Mmm, ah, so good,” Jensen rasped; the elven smile slightly stretching his lips was both a challenge and a tease— it asked him ‘Can you make it better? Prove it’. Oh, he’ll give it his all and then some; someone’s ass was in need of some spanking and biting.

His lover’s eyes were barely opened, glazed over with passion; yet despite the agility in which his hands moved, his toes were flat on the mattress. It wasn’t enough and Misha knew for certain that without him they will remain like that; so he allow a smirk to stretch his lips as he walked towards the round wooden coffee table and opened the paper bag he had brought with him earlier. An irritated noise filled the room and a grin overtook his face, but before looking back over his shoulders it disappeared. A tilt of his chin and a lift of his eyebrow was all he needed to silence his man. Even from that distance, he saw an inaudible gasp escape; delight trailed down his being as though a light rainfall. His hands briskly moved to pull out the contents of the bag, and at the sight of his gift for J a quirk of lips spread more contentment.

Lazy steps brought him to the edge of the queen sized bed, where he dropped a brand new bottle of Astroglide sensual strawberry lubricant (not that his lover’s hole needed to taste any better, but he was curious) and a box of Trojan Mint Tingle condoms. At that, lust shrouded eyes glimmered with amusement and plush lips upturned with humor. He couldn’t begin to express how much he idolized that smile; how much he cherished the person beatifying him with that expression. At last, he slowly opened the neatly wrapped small packet he held in his right hand; he had ordered this last week from a website Vicki had recommended. The memory of both of them sitting on their cream colored linen sofa, whilst ordering these things made his heart flip; no one in the world was lucky enough to have a wife like her. Well that wasn’t totally true, because Dee was pretty amazing. Expectant eyes stared with intensity as if doing so would allow him to see through the package. He couldn’t wait to see his partner’s reaction, so he prompted his fingers to move faster. Once unwrapped, said reaction didn’t delay; a whine sang a melodious song in his ears, which completely dragged his dominant side to the surface. Busy hands became paralyzed mid-task and J’s pink skin became crimson, rampant goosebumps overtook Jensen’s enticing body and his satiny lips submitted to Misha’s teeth —no siren song was as honest and prodigious as J’s body. Usually his body spoke more truthfully than his words.

“Mish, _please_ …”

That begging voice as he crawled into bed hit all his sweet spots. Stationed between bowlegs, his left arm braced on one side of his lover’s head, and the other was playfully swinging the coveted object; the material felt good between his fingers. It was well made and Jensen would certainly elevate its attractive look.

His face leaned in against an alluring neck and instinctively his nose nuzzled the sensitive skin; a whiff of leather, a familiar cologne and teakwood permeated his nostrils. A quiet moan encouraged his lips to lace tiny kisses to every inch of speckled skin; until his mouth encountered an exposed Adam’s apple and teasing teeth closed on it gently. The deep groan that reverberated in his ears and made the body beneath him vibrate, called out his tongue; it lapped at the spot with premeditated provocative circular movements, which ended with a kiss and his nose buried in the hollow of J’s throat.

“I got this for you, but you have been a bit insolent,” he commented as he leaned back to look at the already ravished visage tempting him further. “I lost sleep thinking about how your dick would look wearing this dark leather cock and balls cock ring. What should I do? Huh?” A hand lifted to cup his cheek and the other entwined around the hand holding the toy. _Shit! Not that look; how sly._

“Do whatever you want with me, _punish me_ ; spank me, bite me, but _please_ put this on me. _Please Mishka, mm_.” Fucking dammit, what cunning little shit, but that’s okay; I’ll take you up on the offer. I’ll make you sing a cappella your deepest desires.

“Very well, stay still because I don’t want to hurt you. Also,” Intentionally, he let a grave tone slip into his voice because it was of utmost importance that his man paid attention to what he was about to say. His eyes registered as a flurry of lust receded from evergreens and only then he voiced, “You need to let me know if it starts to hurt, if you feel discomfort or cold in the area, alright?”

A nod and he set to put on the cock ring; he resisted the persuasion of a drop of pre-come sitting prettily on a shiny slit. He was glad he didn’t go further in his teasing, because if Jensen had been fully erect the cock ring play would have had to wait for another time. Experienced fingers grab a hold of the semi-hard member; it twitched at the attention and its heat branded his fingertips. That simple gesture was enough to push Jensen’s broad hands to clasp the sheets. His focus shouldn’t be distracted, but that didn’t prevent him from taking a quick peek; what he saw electrified the tendrils of want conglomerated in the depths of his belly— agape mouth, pert nipples, scarlet tinted cheeks and neck, and eyelids struggling with the weight of passion. At that moment he wanted to forget the cock ring and just take him, but he made promises. Deft fingers moved to strap the eager length; slowly, he wrapped one of the rings behind the delicate balls being mindful of the light colored curls at the base of his lover’s thick long cock. Once it was loosely secured with metal snaps, he proceeded to wrap the attached ring around the shaft. After he was done, his eyes lingered and drank in the bewitching sight, but his brain urged him to check up on his J.

“How does it feel? Is it too tight?” his eyes captured ecstasy-overwhelmed eyes, almost black with desire. The almost limp legs and parted lips told him his gift was being enjoyed, yet he needed to hear the words confirming it. “ _Jen_ , hey, come back. I haven’t even _started_ teasing you yet.” While Misha spoke, he braced both of his arms on either side of his lover’s head. Then, he lowered his lips to a sweat-shined forehead, his eyes drifted close for a second; the comforting heat warming his lips similar to a wood stove. “Don’t you want to see how hot you look?”

“Mmm,” was the only verbal reply he received, immediately followed by an arch of hips which rubbed both of their quickly hardening members, and ripped both mewls and growls from their throats. His right hand moved with purpose to whack a firm butt cheek, which caused Jen to immediately arch his back and hips, and wrenched a throaty moan from his lover. J’s hands shot up from the mattress to his knees, bringing his legs higher and further apart. The view of a clean, rosy, shaven entrance sent all the blood to his cock; it strained and glimmered with countless droplets of pre-come.

“ _Mish_ , more, _punish me more_. I’ve been so bad, _so bad_ , give me more _please_ … _ahhh_.” The begging was cut short by Misha’s mouth enclosing an erect nub; a flick of tongue and some nibbling, an index and thumb busied themselves with the other entrancing nipple; they pulled at it and rubbed the tip with a combination of blunt nails and finger pads. The action brought tremulous hands to his upper arms, as if holding onto them would prevent him from flying away like a helium filled balloon.

“You are so sensitive, look at you, so wanton and desperate. Do you enjoy my touch so much?” Having this man melt at his fingertips, so pliant and malleable with just his tongue and teeth and his fingers and words was the highest reward he could get. A fiery tongue licked geometric shapes over the sizzling flesh of a beckoning neck; he craved to bite it and brand it but that was a no-no— a wish that would have to wait until they were on vacation. So he flung the thought out of his mind for now and continued his art on appealing collarbones; his teeth ventured to scrape them gently, cautious of not leaving any marks.

“ _Mmm_ , God… _shit oh_.” His lips trailed down and his hand followed; it trailed down a ticklish flank and thick waist to settle on firm hips. Deifying lips dispersed consecrating kisses over puffy nipples and crimson tinted pectorals, down flanks and a slightly pudgy abdomen which he let his teeth bite tenderly; his tongue circled a belly button and then dipped in to explore.

“ _Ahhh_ , _fuc-k_ , oh damn-” Another somewhat hard slap now on the right ass cheek uprooted a low cry of pleasure and made hips stutter upward; erections massaged against one another and a shiver hitched his breath. It was time to move to the next stage, but first he needed to show his man how sumptuous his dick looked strapped in leather.

“Open your eyes and see how pretty your cock looks.” His midnight gaze masterfully mesmerized night forests of Jen’s eyes, and tugged it to the proud standing dick coated with sticky nectar. When J’s eyes set upon it, a gasp broke loose and hands began to take flight towards it.

“ ** _No_** , no touching,” he stated as one of his hands curled around a slightly bowed leg, whilst his slender index and middle fingers traced the leather rings, and his face lowered to take a better look. A whine kissed his ears and he chuckled; that needy sound spread felicity throughout his being. Jensen was so impatient yet obedient, so trusting and demanding; he was the dom, yet his sub was the one training him. His nose nuzzled the entire length, which combined with the laps of his tongue and careful scraping teeth released a guttural moan, as well as a firmament of goosebumps.

“Please, oh hell, Jesus, mmm.” One glance up and directly into a pitch black gaze, and he let his tongue scoop up the pearls of pre-come that had been driving him insane.

“Fuck, fuc-k, more, mo-”

Jensen didn’t know how much his babbling pleased him. No— no he didn’t know how much one word cried in such an unadulterated way could make him forget all his troubles.

“It’ll be nice if instead of Jesus or God, you would cry _my_ name instead. Can you do that for me _Jackles_?” Misha’s fingertips tracked the taut lines of a left leg from tightly curled toes all the way up a sensitive thigh. He scooted down, all the while maintaining eye contact as he waited for the answer.

“Ye-ah _Misha_ , I will, but more!” Such breathy words only fanned the red-hot flames coursing inside his veins. Once his lips were over the tender skin of the inner right thigh, they parted, and a hard suck decorated the area with a bright cranberry-red spot. A violent quake of Jensen’s body released more pre-come and deepened the blush; breaths came quicker and made ardent eyes roll back— _what a glorious vision!_

“Jesus fuck-ing ahhh-!” Another tingly slap on his precious rear and one more suck in the inner thigh, a stern look and a petal-like kiss.

“ _Sorry_ , mmm _Mishka_.”

“Get on all fours, arch your back, and spread your knees and ass cheeks apart. No touching your cock, if you disobey you won’t get to come.” As he voiced the command, his hands reached for a couple of crisp pillows and placed them under his lover’s belly. The friction as J’s steel hard cock moves against them would contribute to his pleasure. Once that ass was up in the air and presented as if an offering, he got closer and let his hands roam around the round globes. They weren’t quite pink enough and they screamed to his hands to shower them with attention. He kneaded the fleshy rump firmly; fingertips pressed into them as if branding iron and imprinted his touch. As they committed the shape to memory, his eyes feasted on the thin sheen of sweat glistening on a broad arched back. Arousing and almost musical moans enraptured his ears; they made his erection throb and prompt him to move things along. But before things got more intense, he needed to ask something. His hands remained busy with their meticulous ministrations as he draped his body over his man; their combined fresh sweat made their skin shift against each other causing a flint-like effect that stirred a primal urge.

When his mouth was next to a scarlet colored ear, he let his voice drop an octave, “What is your safeword?”

A low groan and then a breathy voice said, “Freebird.”

A fond smirk traced his lips before he spoke again, “If your cock starts to hurt, gets cold or it gets too intense, _you need to use it_ , okay?”

The nod that followed gratified his ego, but it wasn’t the answer he wanted. An earlobe tug and fingers curling tightly around butt cheeks sent a warning. Right away a startled voice rasped, “Yes, sir.”

“Such a good boy,” as he cooed the words he felt J melt beneath his touch, which prickled his skin and encouraged his hips to massage his eager length against a famished entrance. Before he leaned back, his hands lifted and fell back heavy on tantalizing cheeks.

“Ahhh, Chr--- _Mish_!” Few sounds were as inebriating and he wanted to hear more.

His right hand reached for the box of mint flavored condoms and hastily opened it. Sharp teeth ripped one of the packets, deft fingers slid the rubber onto the prominent erection, and then he uncapped the strawberry flavored lube. Once his fingers were coated with a generous amount, he spread the reddened cheeks, exposing the clean and rosy throbbing ring of muscle.

“You just shaved today, didn’t you? Before I came, you took a shower and thought of me doing this to you while you cleaned yourself,” he said in a hush tone as his index finger circled the pinkish rim. He didn’t need a verbal answer, because the pulsating bud told him of its desperation.

“So perfect J, so beautiful,” as his finger circled and then prodded at the hole, his mouth hovered over it and breathed against it; the combination of rim and slit teasing tensed his partner’s every muscle. Needier whines had never been heard and his tongue decided to partake in the action; it lay flat over the ring of muscle and the two fingers rubbing the inner walls insistently.

“Oh my G--, _Mi-shaaa_ , mmm.”

A playful tongue traced around the entrance languidly and then flicked and rubbed against it; the flavor of ripe strawberries barreled through his taste buds, making J taste even more delightful. “Delicious.”

Misha felt hips stutter and fight against the urge to push back. The effort waved pleasure in his heart and he decided a reward was in order. A third finger joined in and a mild tremble shook Jensen’s body. Whilst they scissored and twisted easily, he intentionally avoided making contact with the prostate. He made his tongue stiff against the hole and a thumb gave respite to the overflowing slit. His free hand whacked J’s left ass cheek and elicited a sonorous cry; instantly his lover began to rock back, the slow rolls brought his tongue past the rim. In tandem, his finger and tongue ravished the rapacious hole; it sucked them in greedily and he was intoxicated beyond salvation. The straining of his dick, the wildfire below his stomach, and the abrupt halt of J’s hips advised him to stop before it was too late. His strawberry flavored lips pressed a fervent kiss to the rim, unwilling to part.

“Mish, I…”

“I know,” he managed to utter as his tongue took a last lick and then swept around his lips. Gingerly his fingers left the tight walls behind, yet his mouth lingered over the seductive mounds. He couldn’t resist taking a few love bites; he wasn’t strong enough.

“Ohhh, Shi-t.”

“Don’t move, I will be right back,” when he began to crawl out of bed, a completely debauched gaze sent a plenitude of pleas. Conflicted feelings dashed and collided in his chest, but he wasn’t persuaded.

“30 seconds,” was his response and then he walked towards the bathroom. He didn’t bother to flick on the lights, since what he needed was next to the faucet. Misha washed his sticky hands and afterwards reached for the mouthwash. A thorough rinse and he was out of the bathroom. Jensen was as he left him, except his head was bowed, but as soon as he sensed Misha’s presence it snapped up.

He let a soothing smile sprout and straight away he saw relief relax rigid shoulders lines. Once on the bed, he took his place between bowed legs and moved to blanket a dampened back; until his lips brushed over the right side of his partner’s shoulder, up to his neck, jawline, temple, and lastly his ear. His hands wandered up and down muscled arms; fingers spidered down the ridge of strong shoulder blades— each a dip pen tracing in calligraphy his profound feelings.

“I will let my hands play with your ass cheeks while I fuck you. Safeword out if you need to, understand?”

“Ye-yes sir.”

“Very good, _Jen_.”

One hand braced firmly over a left hip; while the other poured the sticky gel on his length and then slicked it. Slender fingers wrapped around his member and lined it up against the loose entrance; the blunt head pushed and stretched the voracious ring, and as wet heat inch by inch swathed him, drops of sweat trickled down his temple and back. Meanwhile, whines and pants vibrated out of a sultry mouth. When his dick was entirely buried, a hard swallow moved his Adam’s apple and fluttered his eyelashes. His hands caressed slightly quaking hips, as lips dropped loving pecks on a heaving back. After a handful of seconds, he began to move with shallow thrusts— a quickly building rhythm that soared them to unmeasurable heights as if stringless balloons. Once the rhythm was set, his hands uncoiled from hips and flew up in the air; with his next sharp thrust met by maddening hips, they came down in a hard slap.

“Ahhh, mmm, ah _Mi_ \---” the body beneath him jolted and hips stuttered as the flesh under his fingertips bubbled like lava.

A series of fast tempo rolls were followed by another smack, this time lighter. Sinful moans and unruly pants filled the air with erotic music; thank goodness for soundproof walls. As they rocked together in sync, slaps of skin-on-skin and ragged breaths accompanied their sexual melody. Because he knew how lost J tended to get under these circumstances, one hand slipped down to his leather bound cock and balls. At the touch, Jensen’s hip froze and he knew it wouldn’t take much longer, so in one swift move he slid out of soft walls and manhandled a shocked Jensen to his back. A yelp reverberated in his ears as he dove back into delicious warmth. Automatically, legs twined around his waist, whilst hands moved to find anchors. He resumed his thrusts as nimble fingers went to the drawn up balls and hard shaft to liberate them from their prison. The sensation shut passion-darkened eyes and wrenched out a guttural cry. His hands clutched tensed thighs somewhat harshly until a dark gaze fixed on his.

“Not yet,” he uttered in a gravelly voice that hypnotized Jen’s legs to tighten even more. “Relax, I got you, you’re doing great.” His hands left sturdy thighs to pin his lover’s wrists and immediately the alluring, sweat slicked column of J’s throat became exposed to his lips. His tongue laved the skin, absorbing the salty taste at the same time his fingers left corded wrists and linked with thick ones. The length trapped between their bodies threatened to burst at any moment; he too was on the brink of exploding. He kept the undulation of his hips at an adagio tempo as his mouth crashed against parted lips. It was one of those deep lazy kisses with an edge of desperation and a hint of panic.

When they emerged for air, fingers still weaved together; J’s body and his own told him the next thrusts would bring about their climax. An affectionate brush of noses and magnetized gazes, a couple of calculated sharp thrusts and a loud drawn out moan as he hit a sensitive prostate—Jensen orgasm flooded through violently and arched his back in an almost perfect curve.

“ _Mish_ , ahhh, _Mi_ \--- oh, fuck!”

As a husky voice chanted his name mixed with curses, white thick spurts painted contracting stomach muscles; all the while, trembling fingers squeezed his hands frenetically. All of this combined with the clenching of the walls enshrouding his cock, caused his thrusts to become erratic and his breath to hitch. He drove inside three consecutive times and that was enough to spiral into the rapid-fire of his climax.

“ _Jen_ , Jen, J---, mmm,” every muscle tensed as his hips stilled and hands clamped broad ones tighter; a growl surfaced from his belly and his head tilted back—momentarily, he lost all his senses, except the ability to feel his entire being burn.

After the whirlwind of his orgasm, his eyelids opened to drink in the dream that lay sated beneath him. He reveled in the labored breathing and rich crimson hue of J’s skin, in the almost painful grip imprisoning his hands and the sweat carpeted skin; in the musky and salty smell that perfumed the air and the spent limbs melting into the mattress. His body sagged a bit against his lover’s; forearms braced his upper body weight as he lowered his head, and showered a handsome face with venerating kisses. An approving noise painted a soft smile on his bee-stung lips; the post-orgasmic haze making their bodies feel tired and eyes heavy.

He stretched his right arm and grabbed the box of tissues on the table, and then began to clean the sticky mess methodically, as well as rid his cock of the condom. A mild tremble danced its way through Jensen’s spent body when his fingers caressed the bright red hickey he had made bloom on his inner thigh. After a moment spent committing to memory the photographic image of their coupling, he lay down and brought J to his chest. Their arms enveloped each other’s bodies possessively. His heart did repetitive handstands when his partner’s face burrowed against his neck and took a long inhale.

“You were magnificent Jen, always beyond my expectations,” he bestowed the praises against the top of J’s head, whilst fingers snaked up to card through sweaty short hair; his short nails languidly scraped Jensen’s scalp. An open mouthed kiss branded to his neck was the only reply he got—and that was all he really needed. He reached for the comforter and pulled it over their bodies.

After a handful of long minutes went by, without words being uttered and still tangled around one another, he thought Jensen had fallen asleep. But when he was about to turn off the TV and flick off the lights, a croaky voice cleared his thoughts. “When did you buy it?”

A tiny quirk of lips and then he replied in a slow rumble, “Five days ago…you enjoyed it, I’m glad.” Another kiss to his neck. “You can hold it; I saw the want in your eyes.” He untangled one of his hands from the embrace and chuckled at the weak protest. “Here.” A careful hand reached for the cock ring and almost reverently traced the leather. Green eyes now bright and no longer obscured by lust looked from the toy to his eyes—a plethora of emotions sprinkled upon them. His free hand interlaced with his J’s; the leather between them a burning reminder of their special relationship. Their lips met halfway in a lethargic kiss—unhurried and relaxed.

“What do you want to drink?” he questioned after their extended make out session and cuddling.

“Hmm, water.”

Misha got out of bed and walked towards the minibar, uncaring as to his state of dress. The loud whistle that reached his ears unearthed a grin as his head shook in amusement. With two water bottles in hand, he walked back towards the bed and was greeted with a drowsy smile. As soon as the bottle was out of his hand, his partner downed the liquid without taking a breath. An exchanged glance and a shrug, a wordless dialogue and an arched eyebrow—before long, his almost full water bottle was no longer in his hand. While J slugged down the second bottle of water, one of Misha’s hands distractedly finger-painted wavy lines down his well-toned upper arm. Their serene moment was interrupted by a couple of short vibrations from his cell. His hand stilled and a resigned sigh dragged out of his chest before he picked it up.

“Who is it?” Jensen’s hoarse voice questioned as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Azure eyes caught a wince as it flashed across his lover’s face when he sat on tender cheeks; it stirred pleasure throughout his being.

“Do you even need to ask? _He_ must be either drunk or bored.”

It was very late, his weariness had grown roots in the marrow of his bones, but the childish behavior of their best friend etched a fond smile on his stinging lips.

An unattractive but at the same time cute snort out of his man’s mouth caused said smile to transform into a grin. And his body scooted closer to the ravished perfection on the edge of the bed.

“Or both, what did he text?”

Though he couldn’t see J’s face and despite the long sight that deflated firm shoulders, his ears easily heard the amusement in his tone.

“Something along the lines of: **_‘Come down to my room and we’ll wrestle. I promise I won’t break any elbows or leave rug burns.’_** Then, he texted again with a **_‘Rich, Seb, and Matt are here too. C’mon don’t be gay.’”_** Hypnotized lips yanked his sleep heavy head from the warm pillow; they danced carefree over a freckled dusted back in a ballad of adoring kisses.

“Mmm, I thought you were tired old man… _ah_!”

The skin between his teeth was soft and salty; his tongue darted out to soothe the pain and was rewarded with a quiver. “Someone’s mouthy today— _next time_ I’ll use the black leather paddle. An over the knee spanking has your name on it.” The statement caused a chill to dash up Jensen’s spine and a failed attempt to bite back a moan released a quite chuckle from his mouth.

“I can text him back and tell him we can’t make it. Tell him I am not feeling well or that you’re sleeping.”

“No, he won’t buy it; dude is stubborn especially with more than a few beers in him. Unless you want him to bring the party here?” His eyes were met by a knowing gaze and begrudgingly hauled himself to his feet, and waited for his lover to approach.

“One hour and then we’re out. My flight is earlier than yours, but you need to rest especially after our scene.” The firm tone of his voice and serious countenance brokered no argument. Slender fingers curled tighter around a broad hand until a nod was given, and then he continued, “Also, no more alcohol, but it’ll look strange if you say no, so limit it to one drink. Your body needs to recover, keep hydrated with water or orange juice, and also eat a hearty breakfast. I wish I didn’t have to leave early,” his knuckles swept gently over a ruddy cheekbone and Jensen leaned into the touch.

“I’ll be fine, don’t be such a worrywart,” came his partner’s immediate reply, and Misha searched a dozy gaze for a few seconds.

“I will call and text throughout the day. If you need me, don’t hesitate to call. We don’t want to worry Dee, and your well-being is a priority to me.”

“I know,” Jensen’s half-smile reassured him a smidgen, yet an odd worry palpitated behind his ribs.

Languorous steps took them to the bathroom and inside the shower. He took his time to lather his lover’s body, kneaded every exhausted muscle but was mindful of the tender buttocks. After they were clean from head to toe, they got out and toweled each other off. He stepped out of the bathroom for a batch of seconds and came back with a small bottle of baby oil in his hands. The initial curious look jadeite eyes fixed on him quickly transfigured into an affectionate one. Without prompting, J turned around and the breathtaking image regaled him with cherished memories. Cautiously, he spread baby oil to the abused rump and concluded his ministrations with a couple of kisses on each cheek.

Once clothed and after encouraging Jensen to drink some orange juice, they left for their friend’s hotel room.

“Hey, look who finally deigned to show themselves! You guys ignored my calls and texts; such bad best friends. I don’t even want to know what kept you ‘busy’,” their friend greeted overenthusiastically, the last words said in an undertone. Jared was definitely drunk, but not to the point to fear his loose tongue. Out of the blue, overdramatic long arms enclosed them in a bear hug as sloppy kisses stamped their cheeks. _Yes, definitely drunk._

“Aren’t you a bit too energetic for 2:32 am?” J’s hair muffled voice questioned, while he tried to disentangle himself from the giant.

Before Jared could answer, Matt approached with a beer in hand and his always easy smile. “We missed you guys,” an inhale and then he uttered, “Did you guys called each other and agreed to take a shower before coming over? Your hair is freshly washed and you guys look about to topple over. Where you guys at a bar?”

Misha sensed his lover tense beside him and inconspicuously (thanks to Jared’s massive body blocking theirs), his left hand trailed down a slightly rigid back. He hoped the gesture was reassuring, comforting. “No, no bar; I don’t have the same infinite energy as you guys do,” was his good-humored reply. A side glance and the almost unnoticeable smirk on Jensen’s lips made his heart twirl.

“Matt tone down the fangirling over Jensen; Ackles come here and entertain us with a song. I need to give my precious throat a break. Collins, sit down and rest, you look like crap.” Ah Rich, you gotta love him, always tells it like it is.

From the minibar Sebastian asked, “Mishushu, Jensen, what do you lads want to toss down? Beer, whiskey, white wine or-?”

“White wine,” they replied almost in sync, which cause all around chortles to ensue. A thrill ran through his veins, but a light blush watercolored his man’s cheeks.

“So married,” whispered Jared only for their ears, and after a playful yet hard shove from J, he skipped away.

“You guys sound like an old married couple,” Sebastian joked carrying two wine glasses half full.

Jensen’s silence was a thunderclap in his heart—not good. He wanted to take his hand and go back to either one of their bedrooms; cuddle, kiss, talk, sleep, it didn’t really matter as long as his lover was fine.

“That reminds me of what some fans told me at my panel this morning. Do you know there’s this ‘Cockles’ ship name or whatever? At first I thought it was the combination of my last name and yours,” their colleague explained as he looked at Jensen. “But they clarified rather defensively that it was for _you_ guys.”

As Matt motioned between them, his heart galloped against his ribs. And not because he was nervous; he had known about it for some time now, but because of the cracks on his lover’s visage.

“Ma-,” his attempt at talking was cut off by a scoff and a rather mirthless laugh that grated his eardrums. The hand at the nape of J’s neck and evasive eyes, straight back and clenched jaw told him of his emotional state. _They shouldn’t have come._

“The fans always come up with the strangest things. First ‘Wincest’ and now this ‘Cockles’; what would be next? It’s ludicrous, we’re straight, married men,” he couldn’t help but stare at Jensen somewhat bewildered. His mind understood he was just trying to play it as a joke, because he was uncomfortable, but he couldn’t stop the poison spreading in his veins. Hearing those words after what they had just done, inflicted the most excruciating pain. The lips that had begged and kissed him and the voice that had called his name in a sacrosanct way were now chisels to his heart.  

“Yeah, it is, but if those fantasies make them happy, as long as they don’t hurt anyone it’s okay. Let’s drink and be merry, c’mon guys.”

As the minutes went by, the tension from the beginning dissipated a little; between lame jokes and singing, story swapping and career plans, everything seemed to sail in calm waters. Their gazes even found their way to each other as their lips spread in sincere laughter. After an hour or so, with the excuse of early flights, they slipped away from the ‘party’. By the time they got to the J’s room, they were both too tired to form intelligent words. Thus, they undressed, brushed their teeth, took a piss, exchanged quick pecks, and dropped like giant sequoia logs on the mattress. But before he went to sleep and against his better judgement, and maybe pushed by something akin to distress, he posted a picture to his twitter. It was a close-up of Jen’s eye, nothing that would cause harm, but the thoughtless words attached to it were a push in the wrong direction.

_‘I’m not normally one to talk about coworkers, but Jensen jus let me take this picture of him shirtless.’_


	2. ~Doubt~

_**I may not always love you** _   
_**But long as there are stars above you** _   
_**You never need to doubt it** _   
_**I’ll make you so sure about it** _

_**God only knows what I’d be without you** _

_**If you should ever leave me** _   
_**Though life would still go on believe me** _   
_**The world could show nothing to me** _   
_**So what good would living do me** _

**~“God Only Knows,” Beach Boys**

 

“Oh c’mon dude, are you still mad at me for posting that picture? It had been a week and you’re still sulking,” his best friend’s muscular shoulder knocked against his right one in an attempt to get him to smile, but despite himself he couldn’t. Jensen knew it was silly to still be upset at this point, because it was already out there, for the world to see, for the overactive imagination of fans to analyze.

As they walked towards the set, he struggled to reign in the simmering lividness making his hairs stand as if needles. This was serious, not a joke; he felt exposed, like his privacy had been violated. There was a reason he disliked social media and didn’t want anything to do with it; no matter how many times his agent, the showrunners advise him to be active in one of those platforms—his answer was always no. Danneel navigated them with ease and always mindful of what she shared, but Jared and…and Misha; they were careless, too willing to share their private lives. Since that Monday morning a week ago when Jared showed him Misha’s Twitter post, he had felt off kilter. There was this gnawing feeling clawing at his innards, invisible fangs sucking energy out of him. Not even the cold October breeze rushing by was as wintry as the volcanic winter killing every pleasant thought in his mind. His feet belatedly stopped— an abrupt movement that threw off his balance as his hands balled into fists. Jared walked a few steps before he noticed he had stopped walking, and then turned around; a quizzical look in his hazel eyes. Big hands rubbed together in an attempt to warm up at the same time a few steps brought him closer.

“What is it? Is something wrong?” honest concern laced his friend’s voice; it made a twinge of guilt jolted his heart. And Jensen would have let it go and maybe gotten over it, if he hadn’t spoken the next words so lightly.

“Listen man, I meant no harm, Misha either; there’re only innocent pictures, nothing compromising. It was picture of your eye and another of you and Misha smiling while having some wine. The fans thought it was sweet and funny, that we were trolling. You take things too seriously, loosen up a little.”

Those words were a punch to the face; they sounded dismissive, mocking, like he was being melodramatic without reason. Suddenly, the temperature wasn’t cold enough to appease the ferocious conflagration roaring through him. He usually wasn’t one to spout irate words, to fall prey to stirred emotions, only this time he felt cornered by lack of control. He didn’t like that feeling because it made him feel helpless, and it may sound hypocritical since he gave control to Misha willingly, but that was different.

“Loosen up? Funny? Seriously, is that all you have to say? The words were what bothered me the most. Misha talking about me being shirtless, and you insinuating that something strange was going on with your ‘what you’ve been waiting for’. This isn’t a freakin’ game Jared, it’s my life and if I don’t want it exposed like some kind of painting at a museum, you should respect that.” He didn’t realize he was almost hyperventilating until his eyes started seeing two Jareds and fireflies all around.

The thought of his private life becoming public terrified him—no, in fact this entire landslide of emotions was born out of something else. _Your relationship with him, it shames you,_ a malicious voice murmured and all of a sudden his entire being felt frazzled. He couldn’t deny the truth those words held; it made his mouth taste like ash and his stomach roiled, causing a wave of nausea. _How could he feel and think like that when all he has ever received from Misha was love?_ He had chosen this and now, now he was inundated with doubt. _What had possessed him two years ago to think this was a good idea?_

“Shit! Jensen… du…,” his ears didn’t register the somewhat alarmed words that moved thin lips. Only when a pair of sturdy hands coiled firmly around his upper arms, he was finally able to snap out of the interminable spiral threatening to entomb him. _Fuck_ , this was getting to be too much; it was becoming messy and he didn’t know how to deal with this situation. The worried expression on his best friend’s face grounded him, as well as the curious looks he garnered from a few crew members. He forced his hands to unclench slowly and greedily absorbed a lungful of air, whilst he straightened and his gaze found its way back to familiar ones.

“I’m fine…uh sorry,” the bated sound of his tired voice belied his words, but his friend didn’t call him out. The incessant buzz, similar to barbed wire under his flesh threatened to rip him apart if he didn’t solve this problem soon.

Before Jared spoke again, one of his hands threaded through his dark brown locks as his mouth thinned out into a straight line; his other hand rested on his side a tad fidgety. “No,” he replied with a sigh, “I’m the one who’s sorry. You have the right to be pissed at me. I didn’t think about how my actions would affect you. I’m really sorry Jay. I’ll delete the post right now,” his friend’s apology made some of the ire ebb and his hand flew to wrap around his wrist before he reached for the phone.

Confused eyes settled upon him and prompted an explanation, “I- I don’t think it’s a good idea to delete it, because it’ll look suspicious. Just, um leave it.” He withdrew his hand and rubbed his face; his eyelids felt as though he had two rocks on top of them. And the day was just beginning.

A hesitant nod and his friend’s uttered tentatively, voice quiet, “You don’t have to worry about me posting anything like that ever again. I don’t like seeing you like this; you have been jittery and snippy, it isn’t like you. Misha has noticed it too; even though he isn’t here, he knows something’s up. Don’t be too hard on him; he has been calling me every day to ask me how you’re doing.”

Jensen’s mouth opened and closed as if a dying fish, whilst he ducked his head and shifted from one foot to the other. His arms folded over his chest, as if an armor uselessly preventing his heart from sandblasting through. A hard swallow moved down his throat, leaving in its wake raw lungs unable to function. The thought of his…of _him_ anxious, blue eyes downcast; he didn’t want to picture it, because it would surely fragment his resolve. They have spoken over the phone a few times, all the calls made by Misha. His own cruelty disgusted him to the point of making him gag. But he refused to show any more weakness, not because of pride but because he didn’t deserve to be coddle by anyone. He still had much to think about, thus he forced himself to smile when all he wanted to do was to cry. _Men don’t cry_ , his dad’s stern voice reprimanded.

“Yeah, okay…now let’s get going before Bob sends an army to look for us.” The tight smile stitched on his lips a gash barely containing the inconsolable screeches bouncing in mind.

“Cool,” the giant of a man answered giving him a slap on the shoulder.

***

Between a fitful sleep and a head splitting headache, his day had started pretty shitty. Jensen had woken up wanting; his hands pawing at empty space, as they chased the ghost of firm gentle hands and the teasing touch of slender fingers. A thick carpet of sweat matted his hair and coated most of his upper body. His nostrils were overwhelmed by the salty smell of it as well as the rich odor of come; all these obstreperous sensations derailed his senses. The thrumming feeling underlying his skin hummed the flood tide of need to be taken out of his head. He _needed_ to be taken apart piece by piece, aired out, and caressed by the apricity of a fine fall morning. All he wanted and needed at this moment was everything he couldn’t have; it was the reason why he was facing this conundrum, why he felt this unfathomable agony.

_How do I renounce to someone that has become an intricate part of me? How do I kill love? How can I survive with a part of my heart missing? Wouldn’t a person die if half of his arteries, veins and capillaries are torn out of their body?_

_Danneel_. The thought of her calmed him. She will respect his decision and console him, but she won’t understand the reasons that pushed him to it, because she knows the depths of his feelings. Dee loves Misha and Vicki and West, just as much as he does; and he was about to destroy their happiness with his own hands. Maybe he should talk to Misha first before--- He was shaken out of his introspection by a ringtone that heralded further affliction. The lengthy inhale he dragged inside his body didn’t help energize his lethargic limbs, yet with a tremendous effort he stretched and took the cell in hand. A weary sigh and then he greeted his father with what he hoped was a pleasant tone.

“Hey dad, good morning,” he winced at the wobbly pathetic mess that was his voice, but he could always use the excuse of just having woken up. Lying over the phone was easy for him; he could hide his internal turmoil from most people, pretend everything was rose colored—except from his wife and… _him_. Abyssal blue eyes bore down on him every time his eyes welcome the darkness; they radiated all the feelings he didn’t deserve but nevertheless craved. Forlorn of hope— he had to shake his head to disencumber himself of their shackles, gulp down the thick knot of tears almost strangling him, and bite his clenched fist until the pain rooted him back to reality.

“Good morning JR, isn’t it a bit too late to still be in bed? Reading the script a few more times before today’s recording won’t hurt you.” Not even a ‘How are you son?’ Why did his heart still chafe at something he should already be used to?

His free hand lifted up to card through his bed tousled hair; a poor effort at soothing his nerves, because he didn’t think he would ever feel peaceful again. “I was about to get in the shower when you called. How are you and mom? Is everything okay?” No, he didn’t feel bad about telling a white lie if it meant this conversation could end in the next five minutes. Ungrateful son, yeah, he was aware, but at the moment he was implicitly lost in a sandstorm from which he was certain he wouldn’t come out unscathed.  

“Then I won’t take much of your time. Everyone is fine and healthy; mom sends her love. She went to church early to meet with the group in charge of the anti-abortion march. Speaking of babies, when are you and Danneel planning to start a family?”

“Dad we ha-”

“Ross, family is more important than anything else. Danni isn’t getting any younger and she doesn’t have any projects lined up, so she can take at least a couple of years off to have a child. After all, that’s one of the main reasons why people get married.” He abhorred the matter-of-fact tone that accompanied what his father believed to be unassailable words. His fingers curled tightly around a fistful of hair and tugged at it until pain spiked the pounding in his head.

Jensen loved his dad, but sometimes the old man was too meddlesome and not in a fun, playful way. His views on how a ‘real man’ should behave, how a marriage should work and so on clashed with his and Danneel’s _. If he knew what you have been doing the past two years, he would die of embarrassment,_ a voice sing-songed mockingly. He already knew his parents would rather gouge their eyes out than to look at him if they ever discovered--- _No, I can’t allow that to ever happen._

“Ross? Are you there?”

“Ye-yes, sorry, still sleepy.” A very disrespectful answer made it to the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it back before it made its escape. Sharp teeth crew his lips as the heel of his hand harshly rubbed his right eye. He wished he could go back to sleep, but the cacophonous cyclone of thoughts swirling in his mind wouldn’t permit it, even if he didn’t have to head out to work soon.

“Hmm, _even that Misha Collins_ has a child.”

At those words he bristled, because the way his dad had said those words sounded like contempt. Jensen shot upwards and immediately felt woozy; enough of this shit, he thought vindictively as his vision colored the off white walls a florid color.

“Why did you bring him into this conversation?” Jensen questioned darkly as spiny climbing vines trussed his neck. The sensation of thorns piercing flesh felt so real his right hand dashed up to his neck to inspect it. For a second, he expected his fingers to return bloodied.

“Because even an odd duck like him knows the importance of family,” his father’s disembodied voice admitted casually.

Those words left a disagreeable aftertaste of splintered glass in his mouth; they seeped through the fissures of his bruised heart and poisoned his bloodstream. A scowl etched his face at the same time blunt nails dug into his palm, and the relentless sledgehammer pounding his brain shredded every rational thought in his mind. A cauldron of raw fury boiled over where it sat at the base of his stomach. The magnitude of its force hurled out a string of truths his father might not appreciate.

“That’s not very Christian of you dad, insulting people for being different isn’t what the Lord preached. And about Dee and our marriage and our plans for a family, that’s **_our_ ** business. **_We_** will decide when it’s the right time, not you or anyone else. Also, Misha is one of the kindest people I know and I won’t allow you to talk about him like that. He is a dear person to me,” he stated; the last sentence almost cracking his voice.

“Jensen Ross Ackles what kind of manners are those? I am your father and that tone isn’t acceptable. Did you forget who you are talking to? You owe me respect,” his father admonished in his classic stentorian voice, which goaded Jensen to huff out a frosty laugh and continue his tirade.

“I’m not a child dad; don’t talk to me like I’m one. I love you, but sometimes you make it very hard for me to respect you.” As he confessed this he felt somewhat unburdened, because for the first time in his life he stood up for himself in front of his father. _It was about time,_ he reassured himself.

Silence and then an indignant huff; Jensen didn’t have to think hard to picture the disapproving expression sketched on his dad’s face. “You say you are not a child, but your inconsiderate attitude and rude words say otherwise. You should be grateful I care about you and your marriage. Maybe your fame and work, the new people in your life and living far away from your family have made you forget how to be a good son.”

Each word was a punch to his gut; carefully controlled and meant to shake him, make him apologize and accept he had been out of line. And he would have yielded a few days ago, but right now he didn’t have the time to stroke his father’s ego.

“I have to get ready for work now,” he uttered, purposely brushing off his dad’s lecture.

“Ross, this con-”

“Dad, please, it’s better for the both of us if we end this conversation here. Before we say things we might regret.” Jensen’s voice was an obsidian blade edged with steel, despite the fatigue soaking every pore in his body.

“I think you have said enough,” were the last words his father left behind before he hung up the phone.

A lengthy sigh left him lightheaded and feeling as if he were a windblown twig; the splayed hand on the mattress clawed at the dark grey comforter in frustration, whilst the other clutched the cell and then tossed it carelessly somewhere around the foot of the bed. He let his body fall back heavily against the bed and his hands quickly followed to rub his face; each rough drag felt like pumice smoothing out his skin. Slowly, he blew out a few breaths and screwed his eyes shut; nothing felt right.

***

Jensen felt sluggish the entire day, so off that Jared and Mark and a handful of people kept asking if he was sick. Only when he was Dean could he relax, because all of these onerous emotions he was feeling were his character’s everyday life. He didn’t have to pretend to be fine and happy when he was playing Dean, and that was exactly what he needed—an outlet to let his misery slither its way out of him. And afterwards, if someone asked him why he looked so grim, he could pin the blame on Dean. Though Jared, as his best friend and one of the people who knew him the best didn’t buy it, yet he didn’t push for information. But what he did do, more to fill the silence and distract him, was talk his ears off; he spoke about Gen and wanting to do some traveling, his new exercise regime and some other things Jensen didn’t really paid attention to, which would have made him feel a pang of guilt any other time.

When Jensen got to his apartment that night after eating dinner, he didn’t even bother to flick on the lights. All he wanted was to strip off his clothes and crawl into bed. Except tonight he promised Dee to Skype with her and he wasn’t about to break that promise. Only he didn’t want to worry her when she saw his bloodshot eyes and overall crappy appearance. So he decided that an innocent white lie for the right reasons wasn’t going to hurt anyone. Jensen toed off his shoes and slipped off his favorite black leather jacket, and then draped it over the light gray linen sectional. He walked around it and let himself fall down onto the comfortable couch; his drained body sagged against it instantly, stretched out to its full length. A black and white chevron cotton throw pillow propped against the armrest cushioned his head. His eyelids instinctively fluttered close and he was nearly tempted to let Morpheus weave his dreams, yet the cell in his hand burned his palm.

A deep inhale followed by a long exhale extracted from his body the tension that had taken his muscles hostage. He wiggled his toes while he waited for his wife to answer; the warm temperature and pitch black made it difficult not to drift off. “Hello my love, how are you? Hey, we were supposed to Skype tonight,” his wife said as a way of greeting; her joy and pleasure woven in her silvery voice, which curved the corners of his mouth into the first genuine smile in days.

“Hi beautiful girl, I’m okay and you? Sorry about not Skyping, but the app is giving me trouble. I’ll have to delete it and install it again, I guess.” He tried to school his voice into something resembling his usual tone; at the same time he dealt with the venomous guilt poking at his heart for lying to her. Meanwhile, the fingers of his free hand drew nonsense symbols on his right thigh.   

His ears caught the rustling of fabric and a few other sounds as she proceeded with her bedtime routine. Suddenly, a wave of longing almost swept him away and his eyes stung; Jensen missed her so much. And he missed _him_ even more, because their days were numbered. But he decided to fling those thoughts aside for now; this wasn’t the time to dwell on his cowardice.

“That’s okay, those things happen, but tell me, how was your day? You sound a bit strange, did anything happen?” Dee’s concern was a kick to his loins; he didn’t deserve it.

The movement of his fingers halted on his thigh and he thought it better to throw his arm over his face. His mind was reeling with so many acidic thoughts; he felt the tidal wave of self-inflicted panic approach like a deadly tsunami. He should tell her his true thoughts and feelings, his unresolved Gordian knot and the decision that might pulverize part of his heart, but it was the best thing for everyone…or so he kept telling himself.

“It was um, very busy,” a sneaky sigh flowed out of his throat, but before she questioned him again, he continued. “We filmed off location from early morning to mid-afternoon, and then came back, rested for about two hours and resumed until a couple of hours ago. I already ate dinner so don’t worry.”

“Mm, that’s a brutal schedule. But I’m glad you aren’t skipping meals because you’re too tired. Can’t wait for you to come home, next week right?”

A half smile crossed his lips and warmed him whole. “Yes, can’t wait to see you too; it’ll be nice to have a few days off in between filming and spend them with you. But enough about me, what did you do today?” He hoped his attempt to veer the conversation away from him hadn’t been too obvious. Sharp teeth chewed his bottom lip restlessly as he waited for her reaction.

“I just got back home about thirty minutes ago. Misha and Vicki invited me out to dinner. We went to this charming Italian restaurant; family-run for generations. Never heard about it, but I can say without doubt that they serve the best spaghetti and meatballs. What am I saying? Everything we ordered was delicious.” The glee in her voice was palpable and made his guilt soar; caused his already feeble resolve to sway like a house of cards threatening to collapse at any moment. An anxious swallow barely disentangled the woven rope carefully secured around his vocal cords.

Thank God the sound wasn’t as loud as he heard it in his ears, because Danneel continued, “We’ll go there when you come next week, too bad Misha won’t be here. He’s going to Haiti with Phil and a group from Random Acts for a few days. But you knew that already. I wish I could have gone but I have a few auditions.”

Shit! Jensen had known about Haiti for weeks now, but realizing that the trip was so close made his heart clench painfully behind his ribs. His decision a festering wound waiting to fill the air with its rancid smell. Because the itch under his skin was unbearable and he has to get used to it being permanent, he gave free reign to his hand to tug forcefully at a handful of hair. The pain that flared in his scalp shut his eyes tighter and tensed his muscles.

“Baby, hey, did you fall asleep?”

His wife’s slightly amused voice managed to pull him out from under the tar filled pool that was his head. So Dee wouldn’t hear him, he pulled the cell away from him and turned his head to the side, and then took a few deep breaths. _Everything will settle after I do **that**_ , he told himself for the hundredth time that day. Yet a small part of him, this hush nearly inaudible voice at the back of his head beseeched him to reconsider. _It isn’t wise, it isn’t the answer, it’s a mistake; listen and stop, don’t be an idiot—a coward_ , the voice insisted, but he smothered it with his ‘it’s for the best’ chant.

“Jay?”

Another deep breath and he cleared his throat; his index and thumb now pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sorry babe, so auditions huh? Good luck, not that you need it; you’re gonna kill it.” He purposely avoided the part about Misha, because if he so much as spoke his name right now; he couldn’t guarantee shattering like a hand-blown glass vase. _How can I muster enough courage to tell Misha my decision, when I can’t bring myself to even imagine it?_

“Did something happen? Being tired isn’t new to you, what’s going on?” Dee’s sultry voice held a note of concern around the edges. _Fuck!_ Jensen knew better than to lie about this, but it wasn’t a complete lie. Because even though the argument with his father had rankled him, it wasn’t the main reason for his absentmindedness and distress.

A wobbly sigh and phosphene floated in zigzags when his eyelids parted; it made his thoughts sway. “I got into a fight with dad today.”

A tense silence followed by a muffled sigh and then she voiced, “Crap, that’s new; what did Alan say this time to push you so far?”

Jensen really didn’t want to talk about it, but if that’s what it took to not go near the other stuff, he’ll power through this. He told her every detail of their verbal battle, except he left out the part about Misha. Call him a pathetic and unmanly, but he wasn’t strong enough to even spell that name. He feared his tongue would writhe in pain and his lips would split into countless asymmetrical pieces, if those letters filled his mouth.

“Well, I didn’t think Alan thought so little of me or my career. And it has never pleased me to hear him treat you like a child. But he has said similar things before and you didn’t explode. What was so different this time? I don’t want you to be stressed out because you felt you had to choose sides. To be honest, I don’t care about his opinions about me. I only want you to be happy and you are far from that, so tell me what has your feeling tumbling out of control.” Using that worry-ridden loving tone wasn’t fair, especially when he was feeling so vulnerable that it almost coaxed the words out of him. Almost.

“I think it was the last drop to fill the glass. It has been years and years of feeling like a little snot-nosed boy, inadequate and incapable in the eyes of the person whose opinions I thought mattered the most. I’m sorry for not speaking up before, for allowing his words to hurt you,” Jensen’s voice faltered and choked him; his heart a boulder behind the shelter of his ribs—he was sinking rapidly.

“Shh, none of that baby. I don’t need your apologies okay? Because I never held that against you; Jay you are a kind person, a good son, a dedicated actor, a loyal friend, and an amazing husband and lover. I wasn’t hurt by his words, but pissed off at his ignorance. That’s not on you and I’m glad that you finally stood up for yourself. It’ll take him sometime to push away his pride and admit he was in the wrong, but in the end he’ll realize his mistake.” She sounded so sure and her love down poured in rippling waves throughout his being. Dee was a cure-all balm healing him slowly, at least from these wounds.

“Thank you,” he murmured thickly, sounding pitiful to his ears.

“I love you and I’m always here for you; I hope you know that.”

Jensen nodded, his eyes waterlogged, and then he spoke, “I know, I love you too.”

A pleased noise and Dee said, “I’ll send batches of kisses and hugs with-,” an abrupt halt to her words made his brow furrow and curiosity spike, but not enough to urge him to ask. Jensen felt scraped raw; his vocal cords and brain too disconnected to articulate any intelligible thought.

“Um, so to end your day on a positive note, I inform you that West said his first word yesterday— ‘dog’,” she giggled, “that’s Misha’s son for you. Vicki wouldn’t stop laughing and teasing Misha, because he had been constantly repeating ‘pa-pa’ in front of West. But West is a Mini Misha so he deviated from the norm and surprised us all. Man, I love that kid; he’s so adorable that I just want to cover him in kisses and nibble his cheeks.”

 _West_ , he can’t help the half smile that peeled his lips at the thought of that kid. Jensen will never forget the first time he held him in his arms; something so fragile and precious, the love that unfurled in his heart at the first eye contact. West was Misha’s and Vicki’s, but he felt him his as well. He wished he had been there tonight, surrounded by their raucous laughter and warm smiles; see their eyes shine with joy and be cocooned in the feeling of family.

Jensen let Dee’s voice washed over him; it was comforting and embosomed him in warmth. Her words and Misha’s name cascaded over him, in him, through him, and flanked him on all sides. At least tonight he was sure his sleep would be a bit less restless.


	3. ~You~

**_The very thought of you and I forget to do_ **   
**The little ordinary things that everyone ought to do**   
**I'm living in a kind of daydream**

**_The mere idea of you, the longing here for you  
You'll never know how slow the moments go till I'm near to you_ **

**_It's just the thought of you  
The very thought of you, my love_ **

**~“The Very Thought of You,” Nat King Cole**

A couple of days went by and he still felt like crap. No matter what he did, how much he tried to get lost in Dean’s life and the story; he couldn’t for the life of him shed his own skin and leave the harrowing thoughts hounding him behind. They appeared at every corner, a constant reminder of his intentions—harpoons satirizing his foolishness, waiting to impale him when he least expects it. At least he could still do his job well, so that was a plus. After recording non-stop for hours without a break; except to touch up their makeup and drink some water, they were finally free for a couple of hours.

Jensen was on his way out of the bathroom when Jared came in, laughing as he ended his call. It was both endearing and annoying, but he couldn’t be happier for his best friend. “How’s Gen?”

A wide grin stretched Jared’s thin lips as slender fingers raked through his long hair. “She’s fine, told me she’s meeting Danni for dinner.”

“Good. Um, lunch in my trailer? Or maybe drive into town? But you’ll drive, ‘cause I’m dead tired.” One look in the mirror and he was taken aback; the dark circles under his eyes and an all too familiar shadow of gloom accentuated his features. From the corner of his eyes, he saw a flash of concern cross Jared’s face and the question he didn’t want to answer waiting at the tip of his tongue. So his hand moved swiftly to open one of the faucets, and then cupped his hands under the refreshing flow of water. As soon as the cool liquid splashed his face, a silent gasp parted his lips.

Jared shifted where he stood before he spoke, “Not today man, I have something to do.”

Jensen’s head tilted to the side, whilst he dried his face with a few paper towels. His furrowed brow prompted his friend to continue; a mischievous smile planted on his lips and his eyes sparkling knowingly, like he was dying to reveal a secret but couldn’t. “But you should hurry up and go to your trailer; food’s waiting for you,” and that’s all Jared says before his broad hand clapped his shoulder and literally skipped out the door.

And now he was even more confused than a few seconds ago, because, why did Jared come into the bathroom if he didn’t need to use it? Also, what’s that about ‘food’s waiting’? He doesn’t remember asking anyone to order anything for him… oh fuck! Was that bastard trying to reel him into a prank?

“For the sake of his Rapunzel locks, that giant had better not pulled some crap in my trailer,” he muttered under his breath as he dashed off to his trailer.

***

Jensen was relieved when he reached for the doorknob and confirmed the door was locked. Though he didn’t feel relieved just yet, because Jared was a determined asshole and he could have figured out a way to open it. His right hand traveled down to his jeans pocket and pulled out the key; if Jared left some stink bombs or rotten fish or a mess of coins, God help him becau- The threat died in his tongue as did all his thoughts and probably his heart, when he saw Misha comfortably sitting on the black leather couch; his back pressed against the seat, jeans clad legs wide apart, one arm stretched over the back of the sofa, and the other resting on the armrest, long fingers curled around the remote. The black t-shirt he wore underneath a cerulean blue short sleeved shirt stretched over his defined chest and beckoned him to touch.

The TV was on as well as the lights, yet his eyes and ears were honed in on the man eyeing him with amusement and smug satisfaction. Something that smelled heavenly tickled his nose and made his stomach rumble, but not even that shook him from the unexpected shock.

Two steps inside and his feet decided to act like those of a toddler learning how to walk; the clumsiness of his stumbling feet apparently incredibly entertaining to the bastard holding back a chuckle. It was so fucking unfair how attractive Misha was, _how did he managed to get even more good looking the few days they didn’t see each other?! Not the time to be thinking about that buddy. Shit, fuck…dammit all, I’m not ready yet; I’ll probably never will be._

The keys in his hands dug into his clammy palm; he needed that pain to center him, to push his vocal cords to function. “Wh-what the-,” he managed to voice albeit haltingly.

“Surprise! I am glad Jared was able to control his tongue. Lock the door.” The string of words was spoken with so much fondness, except for the last three, which were a command full of promise. It shouldn’t make a pleasurable chill trot up his spine or make neither his skin blaze nor his cock stir, only it did, and he didn’t know what to do with those feelings. Jensen had already come to a decision, this was the best opportunity and he couldn’t summon the strength to do it—no— no it wasn’t that, God… And Misha’s wide and bright smile and those damn crinkles were too much for him to handle at the moment.

His mouth must be an agape mess and his eyes the size of dessert plates; if his heart kept knocking against his ribs like that, he’ll end up with a few of them fractured. And apparently his lungs had decided to imitate two blocks of ice, because he felt them frozen in his back. His nose too had been affected by the mayhem of emotions and forgotten how to inhale air. And dammit, this moment wasn’t supposed to arrive so soon; he can’t…

“Hey, are you okay there?” questioned a worry ridden voice from the couch.

Intense blue eyes minutely inspected him and it made him want to evade them, but the force of them kept his gaze fixed. Jensen was certain Misha would see through him; read his thoughts and find his decision, express his hurt and disappointment, and then turn from him. But isn’t that what he wanted? Then why did his eyes prickle and his entire being churned at the thought? Nausea bloomed in his knotted belly and he felt his face pale, but when he felt like he would plummet to the floor, a firm voice knitted with affection torpedoed through his brooding.

“Come here.” Misha’s stretched out hand unraveled his all thread by thread and he let it. The small pocket of air shared by his lungs was startled out of him. And he fought hard to not let it show.

_Fuck, get it together Ackles, act normal or_ \--- Jesus, how unfair of Misha to upend him like this out of the blue. A gulp and one shaky step; his feet (which apparently had decided to go on strike) jumbled together making him sway, but he quickly regained his balance before Misha could rush to his aid.

It hurts. Everything hurts. Even the warm air that skimmed over his face.

“Jen, you are thinking too much.”

The hand waited patiently and he surrendered to it; the touch felt odd, like he was defiling the hand offered. But despite himself, he let his body be guided down to Misha’s lap. His legs parted instinctively and straddled them. Before he could do anything else, the hand entwined with his let go and he had to stifle a needy whine, but the man in front of him knew him freakishly well and quirked a smile. Wordlessly, Misha proceeded to rid him of his, well— Dean’s worn down brown leather jacket. Each arm moved as Misha wanted them to, his body pliant under the attention. Once off, the jacket was thrown haphazardly somewhere on the sofa; he thought the red wine colored shirt would be next, but his lover’s hands never reached for it. On their own and before he could think straight, his left arm wound around a slender neck whilst the other trapped and held tightly onto Misha’s.

“What’s going on, huh? Are you feeling under the weather?”

The ache in his chest abated a little as his lungs demanded air and he inhaled. He didn’t even notice his feet were boot free, until his toes wiggled joyfully. Every muscle in his body was as taut as draw back bow strings, yet the part of him that was incorporeal jounced with phenomenal delight. Christ, he should be speaking the words he had rehearsed countless times to the point of exhaustion, not purring like a contented cat as Misha’s fingers carded through his hair. His head leaned fully into the touch; heavy eyes fluttered closed and his body melted further down Misha’s lap. Their crotches brushed with the movement, but neither of them made a move to increase the friction. This felt extremely good, so right, and exactly what he needed despite not deserving it. Jensen didn’t deserve these soft caresses, he was awful and Misha shouldn’t be so kind to him.

Shame clawed up his throat and stamped itself on his cheeks—a scarlet hue resembling his agony. “I’m just tired,” he said too quickly and he would have winced if doing so wouldn’t screw him up even more. Jensen didn’t want Misha to see any more of his internal discordance. The hold on his hand and hair tightened and a gasp broke loose, as a shudder vibrated his body and enticed his cock.

“Hmm, I don’t believe you,” those words from that mouth were fatal, as were the eyes gazing into his own.

_Shit!_

“I had a fight with my dad,” he murmured and hoped for the best.

The hold loosened a bit and he instantly missed the edge of pleasurable pain; _how fucked up was that?!_

“Do you want to talk about it?” Misha’s kindness was sulfuric acid on his flesh.

Jensen shook his head and his hand cupping Misha’s neck squeezed lightly; a silent plea to stop this conversation. And he listened, of course he did and then Misha’s finger pads skittered over his face—an expiating soothing touch that shut J’s eyes. A flame-like tongue moved up from the hollow of his throat to the underside of his chin; it spread goosebumps all over, but what made his nipples come to life was the gentle bite to the left side of his neck. A light scrape to his Adam’s apple and a reverent kiss to it caused his hips to roll smoothly. He wanted physical contact because this may as well be the last time they’ll be this close.

“Mmm, Mish.”

A pleased chuckle and then some words were whispered into his ear, “I brought you lunch, steak strips and roasted potatoes; it’s from a new place. Should I feed you?”

At the question, his brain short-circuited. Bastard! Exploiting one his weaknesses whilst looking so smug; his fingers curled around Misha’s shoulder almost desperately, while his other hand implored with a tighter hold on his lover’s hand. His legs bracketed Misha’s hips firmly as an attempt to hold himself together; just the thought of those long fingers in his mouth, parting his lips and his tongue around them made his brain mushy. But Misha wasn’t going to make it easy, no, he wanted to hear what Jensen was thinking, his desires. He likes to hear him beg, see him blush, and be ruled by his lust because it gives him pleasure to be the one responsible for reducing him to a wanton mess.

“Huh? Use your words J.” Misha’s low voice demanded in a skin-burning rumble close to his left ear. This time he couldn’t swallow down the pitiful whimper at the back of his throat and he held on tighter.

Misha’s hand spidered up from where it rested on his thigh to tilt his chin so their eyes could meet. Nimble fingers caressed his clean-shaven chin and traced the lines of his slightly slackened jaw, and then followed the curves of his ears, but his exploring didn’t stop there, because soon enough careful fingertips traced his thin eyebrows so tenderly it was a feat to keep his eyelids from drooping. His eyelashes fluttered when warm fingers trailed downward between his eyes to the slope of his nose. It was as if Misha’s fingers were pencils sketching his face. Next, they draw the heights of his cheekbones in soft feather strokes that tickled Jensen’s body and all of a sudden it was scorching inside the trailer. The corners of his eyes received attention as well as the dark circles under his eyes, and he saw worry flare in deep blues and his guilt came back in full force. He wanted to scuttle off and hide, but their intertwined hands refused to set him free. When he felt Misha’s thumb on his lips; languidly dragging over the arc of his top lip and then sweeping at the corners to end on his bottom lip, they parted expectantly. At that, a torrential flood of unmasked desire brimmed lapis lazuli, but then Misha’s eyebrow lifted as a knowing smirk played on his lips.

“Yes please, Mish, please feed me.” Jensen couldn’t hear his voice over the drum roll of his heart, but it must have sounded exactly like Misha wanted if his gratified expression was something to go by. Jensen shouldn’t allow this and keep postponing the inevitable; his affection for this man, his lust for him and the need to be controlled by him—all of that was stronger than him.

His face was guided forward by lean fingers, and as soon as their mouths were a hairsbreadth away, his man captured his lips as if a hungry beast. Misha let go of his hand and now both of his lover’s hands roamed his body with purpose. J’s arms corkscrewed around Misha’s neck as breath by breath his body became delirious; wild tongues navigated around each other while Misha’s sharp teeth nip at the tender skin of his lips, teasing it until it stung and a hiss fell off of his lips. A mild suck immediately follow and then a thorough lick; he wanted more, needed more because he won’t have this for much longer. All the while, one of Misha’s hands massaged the small of his back and then slowly crept up; experienced fingers turned him into dough when they pressed on the knobs of his spine. The other hand, sneaked under his gray t-shirt and his breathing stuttered; from the crown of his head to the tip of his toes it was a mess of warring zones. Some touches relaxed him and others tensed his muscles until they ached.

“Mmm, look at these, so perky for me. Your cock is so hard it must be slick with pre-come,” Misha husked as his eyes glanced up from his flushed chest; so much promise in one look, in the playful swirl of his tongue around his lips.

“God, mmm, Mish please.” Jensen needed that mouth and tongue on his nipples, suckling at them until they were red and puffy. He needed a hand to wrap around his dick, fingers rolling his balls and teeth scraping his neck and collarbone; he wanted to be fucked so hard and fast his brain was wiped clean of stupid decisions. Jensen arched his body abruptly as Misha eagerly sucked and bit at his tender nipple, the action ripping a strangled noise from his throat. He would have fallen on his ass if Misha’s hand wasn’t spread between his shoulder blades. A full body shudder geysered through him and left his chest heaving.

Jensen’s fingers were now curled around sturdy shoulders; his erection straining, begging for release. Misha’s tongue flicked and lapped at a sensitive nub, teeth scraping and tugging at it. J’s eyes drifted close making the tears in them trickle down his ablaze cheeks. His man’s other hand rubbed, twisted and plucked at the other nub and it went on like that for what felt like forever. Moans and pants, groans and whines, ragged breaths and babbled pleas; he was aloft and he didn’t want to come down.

All of a sudden, the mouth and hand driving him to the brink of madness were no longer on him. And the dreadful realization that it was part of a teasing game meant to take him to the edge, but not push him over it came rushing through. His fear was confirmed when Misha’s nose nuzzled his neck and then he uttered, “Time to eat; we don’t want you distracted during your scenes because you are hungry.” And then Misha’s hands were smoothing down his t-shirt and busy opening food containers.

Jensen couldn’t control the perplexed look on his face; dammit, he should have known. How the hell is he supposed to concentrate on his scenes when he’ll remember this every time the fabric drags over his oversensitive nipples?! A noise of irritation wrenched from his chest before he could catch it and his body froze. A serene side-glance and Misha continued cleaning his hands with a hand wipe. After the food containers were opened and the water bottle uncapped, his lover relaxed back against the couch. His hand stretched out to offer a half-cut red potato and Jensen’s lips parted to accept it; the savory flavor claimed his mouth as his hunger trumped his desire. It was soft and buttery in the inside and crunchy in the outside; the garlic, pepper and parsley a perfect combination. A moan flowed out of his mouth and Misha’s lips released a fond smile.

“That good, huh? I am glad it is to your liking,” Misha commented as he offered a steak strip.

Jensen didn’t answer with words but with actions; he took the steak inside his mouth and whirled his tongue around lean greasy fingers. He let out another appreciative moan around the fingers, and then leaked them clean, all the while maintaining eye contact; his hands resting on Misha’s shoulders felt the mild shiver that sprinted through his body. A self-satisfied smile lifted the corners of Jen’s mouth as he grew, but he gulped at the impish dark tendrils that twirled in calculating sapphire eyes. Excitement ricocheted inside him that for the time being he was free from the bounds of his woes. A sudden press of fingers on his right nipple jolted his body accompanied by an undignified yelp.

While he was busy walking through the endless corridors of an azurite gaze, Misha’s left hand had climbed to tease his abused nub. His cock twitched painfully, against his jeans; he needed friction, to come, and he wanted Misha to do it. So he scooted lower, until his erection bumped against Misha’s, he saw the heat glow in his eyes and heard a quiet hiss crack his lips, yet the hand on his chest dropped down to his waist and clamped down on it. His lover tsk disapprovingly as he shook his head and offered him another potato.

“Here I am trying to feed you and you just want to be naughty…, how ungrateful, what should I do, huh? Do you want a spanking? That way both your ass cheeks and nipples will be sore and tender tomorrow,” Misha whispered in his ears using Cas’s gravelly voice, which tore a potent quake on his body and a deep groan. _Yes, please do it, Mish_ , he repeated over and over again inside his head or so he thought. Because a filthy quiet laugh resonated in his ears and a fervid hand dug possessive fingertips on his flesh. “You are marvelous, you know that? Every part of you that calls to me spellbinds all my senses,” the tone effervesced with wonderment and it made Jensen’s blood simmer as if water in a teakettle.

A somewhat hard knock on the door caused his back to go ramrod straight and instinctively he wanted to slide off Misha’s lap, but the hand clamped around his waist didn’t let him. Another piece of steak and a thumb caressing his skin, a placid gaze and soft smile; it was everything he needed for his muscles to relax and his bones to melt. A couple of seconds went by before he tried to speak, but before he could a familiar voice breezed though.

“Someone told Sera Misha is here, I heard she’s coming this way so…” Jared’s voice dwindled.

Jensen’s heart did a series of handstands, before he ripped his eyes from enthralling ones and uttered a surprisingly steady, “Thanks.”

“Shit and I thought I had been stealthy enough,” Misha said in a tone that was meant to be humorous, but fell flat because of the irritation etched on the lines of his face. “How regretful...” he trailed off as he fed Jensen another steak strip and let his free hand sweep smoothly over his fevered chest, up to his sensitive collarbone and neck, to his ruddy cheeks and finally to thread through his hair. He couldn’t taste the steak as all his attention was honed on those gentle yet firm touches.

The lukewarm breath against his forehead turned him boneless and he sagged against Misha’s chest. Well-toned arms looped around him and a sigh left him drowsy; he wanted to fall asleep swaddled by these arms. His head rested heavily on strong shoulders as his nose greedily inhaled his lover’s scent; dark, earthy and sweet. Jensen’s sleepy musings were diffused by an inscribed kiss on his forehead that opened his eyelids a smidgen. Misha’s silky hair strands between his fingers were soothing, as were his warm breaths in his ear and the nose nosing his scalp. _And you’re still giving it all up_ , a thought provided disdainfully.

“I have to go now; we don’t want her to come here. What bad timing… I was ready to give you a hand or mouth and tongue, teeth maybe, but it’ll have to wait until tonight,” Misha didn’t even bothered to mask his teasing tone; he knew that by speaking those words he would have absolute control of Jensen’s thoughts.

In a swift move, Jensen was sat on the sofa instead of his man’s lap and it took him a moment to catch up with the change. Their gazes once again locked and then Misha voiced, “Eat and try to take a short nap, you still have time,” an elfish smirk graced his lips as his eyes glanced down to J’s crotch, “And you might want to change your underwear before you head out.”

A downpour of embarrassment steamed Jensen’s cheeks and he was very tempted to flip his lover off, but instead reached for the food.

“So obedient, so good,” the praises sounded like nightingales in his ears.

Before Misha turned to walk towards the door, he hesitated for a second and then spoke, “I haven’t booked a room yet, should I or is it okay to go to your apartment?”

_Say no_ _and end this_ , urged the logical and already resolved part of him. _Don’t be an idiot and listen to your heart_ , retorted the side of him that refused to let go. “Apartment,” was all he managed to articulate as he fell victim to his warring thoughts. One last lingering look and Misha was out the door. As soon as the door closed, he let his head fall back and immediately trembling hands covered his face.

“Fuck, fuck, what’s wrong with me?” he mumbled under his breath.

***

Misha had missed spending time in this apartment. Even though he had his own when he was still an active part of the cast, they spend most of their time here. Nothing has changed at least in how the apartment and everything in it looked. It smelled like Jensen; musk, mahogany and teakwood with a hint of lavender. All of his muscles seemed to relax as his nostrils were entrenched in the deluged of that scent. As he sat on the couch, legs stretched out in front of him with the TV on, but barely paying any attention to what was playing, his mind was sucked into a vortex of contemplation.

He and Jensen haven’t been able to meet in private since the last con a little over a week ago. The con where everything changed; where they made love like they were saying goodbye, where J became tense and got furious the next morning when he saw his post on Twitter. You’ll think he would have known better, but he was intoxicated in both alcohol and love. Since that day and until this afternoon, they hadn’t shared heat nor kisses or any type of physical contact. Yet what carved at his heart was the absence of warmth and playfulness in his lover’s tone. Jensen’s voice, except for today, had been a sharp chisel and he feared he would be met with it as he waited in the trailer. Gladly, that wasn’t the case and he was relieved, because he didn’t know for how long he could take it. Only, he still feels restless as a feeling of trepidation bounced inside of him sharper than a razorblade.

So he came to see him in person, just to make sure for what seemed like the thousandth time, that Jensen was no longer angry about his trespass. J had said to him a few times that he was over it, but then, why did his entire being felt on edge? The sound of jingling keys as the door was unlocked eviscerated his thoughts and heaved his stomach. His heartbeats played at an allegro tempo when his eyes set upon their malachite counterparts. He felt his heart shrink behind his ribs when he registered unknown emotions diluted in them. But he won’t be beaten by the toxic quake of unnerving thoughts inundating his mind.

“Hi, did you eat?” He was impressed by the steadiness of his voice.

“Uh, yeah.” _Shit, get it together dude, you’re an actor, act, dammit_. He shouldn’t have agreed to this, but he let his emotions speak for him. And what’s worse, Misha looked like Jensen had ripped his innards and stomped on them. _Breath, fuck…I need to come up with an excuse and flee._ As he hanged his keys on the key hook next to the door, he toed off his boots. He couldn’t hold that blue gaze lest he break down and cry.

“Are you okay?”

_Holy crap, stop_ , this was too much. He didn’t deserve so much concern or anything from Misha.

In haste, he shucked off his jacket all the while his eyes flitted around the apartment; anywhere but those worried eyes. “I’m fine, just tired, you know?”

At any other time, Misha would have approached him and kissed him, embraced him and rubbed soothing circles on his back. But now there was this hesitation. It was as palpable as the clothes against his skin, and it felt like he was being gutted in cold blood. Conflicting feelings collided inside of him at the realization.

“Do you want me to draw you a bath? You’ll feel better afterwards and if you want, I can give you a massage,” as the words were spoken, Misha rose to his feet and Jensen panicked.

“No, that’s fine, but thanks. I’m in the mood for a long shower, so um, keep watching your show.” And like the chickenshit he was, he fleeted as fast as his uncooperative feet let him.

Dumbfounded and paralyzed in place, his mouth agape and his brows pinched; Misha’s heart thrashed against his ribs as if wanting to follow Jensen. He was once again plagued by doubt and certain that something was indeed wrong; it must be, because otherwise he wouldn’t be feeling strangulated by unshed tears.

Jensen was true to his word and took the longest shower ever. And as he waited in bed and tried and failed fantastically to concentrate on the book Vicki had recommended, his stomach had become a mangled mess. His head snapped back up like a jack in the box when the bedroom door opened. And at the sight of a pajama decked Jensen he felt his chest constrict, because if he wasn’t sure before then this strengthened his suspicions. J didn’t wear pajamas to bed; he always only wore a pair of boxer briefs. _Dammit!_ His hands held securely onto the book to stay him, whilst he fought the distraught feeling that wound serpentine around his throat. Jensen’s elusive gaze and wan smile were battleaxes tearing him asunder. A gulp moved down his throat and he willed his voice steady.

“Feeling better? Do you want me to make you some tea?”

_I’m such a dipshit_ , Jensen thought as lead feet took him to his side of the bed. _How am I supposed to sleep or even think or breathe with Misha in my bed?_ His lover’s eyes were akin to laser beams cutting into him with precision. “Yeah, it was good, um, and I drank some water already. Thanks anyway.”

As he sat on the edge of the bed, he drew in a few deep breaths through his mouth and swallowed. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat; the sound a clamorous noise that disoriented his mind. His blunt nails dug into the tender skin of his thighs as if spurs and he welcomed the acute pain. Because that was better than feeling the drag of fabric against his hypersensitive nipples and be reminded that he had been the center of attention of the man staring at his back. Jensen felt that gaze graze his shoulders, imploring him to turn around. He could hear the questions he didn’t want to answer and he couldn’t do it— no, he couldn’t. So he lay down, his back still to Misha and clenched his jaw; his hands balled-up under the pillow and against his sternum.

The heat magnified as the man behind him gravitated towards him and his skin craved it—a need so pure it shut his eyes and quaked his body. “ _Jen_ , I-I, um, what’s-” the uncertainty that lined Misha’s voice as he murmured them was worse than needles prickling his fingertips.

_Please don’t ask, please, please stop, please don’t make me do it. I can’t---_ Jensen’s impassioned prayed was cut off by a gentle kiss to his arm which became a garland over the line of his shoulder and neck. His breaths halted against the gasp that pushed up his throat, but miraculously he smothered it before its exit. Each brush of feverish lips beseeched him to look; brambles twisted about his body would feel less painful. So he inhaled deeply and blinked away the tears burning his eyes, and without a word stretched his right arm to flick off the lights.

Jensen knew the moment Misha’s breathing ceased and his face crumpled, because that was the exact moment when he murdered part of his heart. He couldn’t allow himself _this_. If he allowed one more kiss or caress or another sweet word to pass those lips; if he allowed himself more of Misha, it would send his resolve to hell. And he shouldn’t, because to continue this relationship is irresponsible; it puts everyone involved in a vulnerable position. Misha has West now. _Excuses, yes, they are all excuses to the real reasons— that I’m a coward and can’t bear to risk my career, disappoint my parents and face judgement._ But someone has to make the tough decisions.

“Sorry, I’m just exhausted and my head is exploding.” At least his voice didn’t crack like everything else had.

Misha’s shaky intake of breath was followed by a barely there touch to his forearm, and then all the heat withdrew from Jensen. “Don’t worry, and rest. Good night Jen.” Although Misha’s voice was faint and tremulous, it was deafening to a conflicted and heartbroken Jensen.

“Good night.”

As he sunk against the mattress defeated, he felt this sense of foreboding swamp him up to the point of almost hyperventilating. His eyes dallied on the shape of Jensen’s broad back and muscled arm, crept the line of his shoulder and the delicate column of his neck. They skimmed over the curves of his ear and well-carved jaw, until each strand of damp short hair was photographed in his memory. Misha had wanted to give his partner all his attention before he left; it was sort of a ritual for them. He had thought everything had reverted back to normal this afternoon, yet this past hour had proved him wrong. Before flicking off the lamp, he let his gaze wander back to his lover; his shape was blurry and it stung his eyes.

***

“Vicki, Jensen is acting odd; when he saw me, he was visibly distraught. I mean, my intention had been to surprise him, but his reaction was extreme. An aura of conflicting feelings shocked waved from him; he was glad to see me, yet at the same time he wasn’t.” The admission was like a bucket of frigid water over his head. Icicle-like fingertips massaged his throbbing temples as his eyelids shut to welcome the darkness, and his mouth blew out a shaky breath.

The hustle and bustle around him reminded him where he was— at the airport, waiting to board a plane to Haiti. Yet to Misha, the sounds that surrounded him were white noise lacking importance. His mind was an entangled spider web; too many downward spiraling thoughts forcefully dragging him to a place he didn’t want to go. A muffle babbling painted a loving smile on his lips—West’s vocabulary was quickly expanding and he wondered when he will finally say ‘papa’; this thought was a much needed balm to his shredded nerves. It had been self-flagellation to leave whilst Jensen slept; something vicious gnawed at him, because J hadn’t even stirred when he left the bed. Jensen always woke up to see him off, but this time his back was towards Misha as if his man refused to look at him.

“M, you can’t keep going on like this. You have been a bundle of fried nerves; on edge, sleep deprived and filled with doubts for some time now. You two need to sit down and have a serious talk; all these feelings need to be addressed before they snowball into something irreparable. Lay out your concerns; ask him about his own worries.” Her voice was firm and wise, but heavy with love; it centered him and settled the overemotional alluvion driving him insane.

Distracted steps took him to a large window and his eyes took flight as they followed a Jet Blue plane up to the sky. “You are so smart and so much braver than me. I swallowed my words dozens of time when he was in front of me; forced them down into a fortified chest with countless locks.” A weary sigh escaped him and his tongue swept over arid lips, whilst his hand carded through his hair in an effort to self-soothe. “What if there is really something wrong? And it will be my fault because-”

“Stop, there are _two_ of you in this relationship. If there are problems _both_ of you are responsible to talk about them and solve them _together_. I don’t think he is still upset about that post; he even told you. What apart from his initial reaction to seeing you made your worries flare?”

Misha’s feet shuffled and his gaze fixed on a cluster of puffy clouds in the distance, as sharp teeth chewed his bottom lip and his fingers scratched his day old scruff. “Well, um, we had a good time in his trailer after he got over his shock. He was more like his usual self, but then when he got home last night, his demeanor had shifted again. He felt painfully different.”

“What do you mean?” she prompted.

“I smiled at him when he got home and he smiled back, but it wasn’t a real smile; it was forced. Then, when I was about to get up from the sofa and approach him, he basically ran away from me. I offered to draw him a bath and give him a massage, but he rejected both. You need to understand that, he has never done that before. And then,” his voice abated as he remembered a specific moment. He was always honest with his wife, though he never revealed in detail what he and Jen did in their intimate moments. She waited patiently as usual, her steady breathing a calming effect on his hectic heartbeat.

Misha leaned his forehead against the cool glass and after an intake of much needed air, he continued, “When we went to bed, I wanted to help him unwind, but again he rejected me. I-I don’t know what to make of it other than think he is still hung-up on my indiscretion. And he is in the right, because I broke my promise and--- I have posted too much about him, even if I did it all jokingly.” His chest felt heavy as if a boulder settled on top of it, each breath a mighty feat.

“Shh, M, you need to take deep breaths and try to clear your head. Maybe he was exhausted or wasn’t feeling well; a number of reasons could be the cause for his behavior. But you won’t know until you have a serious conversation.” At those words he was slightly energized by the candescent ember of hope he felt in his heart.

“Yes, that’s true; he told me he got into a fight with his father a few days ago. And I also know how intense the recording schedule can be.” As he said those words his uneasiness tamped down a bit; the tension on his shoulders loosened and his pulse lowered to a normal rate.

“You see? It was probably that and not something to do with you. Now, go get some water and then distract yourself either by reading the book I packed for you or talk to Phil.”

The fluttering in his stomach sprang forth a fond smile; he hoped she could hear it in his tone. “Thank you Vicki, I don’t know what I would do without you.”

A quiet but affectionate laugh trickled through the phone and spread its warmth throughout him. “I know and that’s why I will never leave your side.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?


	4. ~I Let You Go~

**_The night we met I knew I needed you so_ **   
**And if I had the chance I'd never let you go**   
**So won't you say you love me,**   
**I'll make you so proud of me.**   
**We'll make 'em turn their heads every place we go**

**_So won't you, please, be my be my baby_ **   
**Be my little. baby my one and only baby**   
**Say you'll be my darlin', be my be my baby**   
**Be my baby now, my one and only baby**   
**Wha-oh-oh-oh.**

**~“Be My Baby,” The Ronettes**

Because Jensen couldn’t take it any longer and he feared he would succumb to his feelings, he booked an early flight to LA. Jared and he were supposed to travel back together, but waiting until tomorrow morning was torturous. So here he was, driving a rental car with tremulous hands and on his way to Beverly Hills on a late Friday night. The music filling the air didn’t register in his ears or the starry sky in his weary eyes nor the pleasant warm breeze flowing in through the open windows on his skin. He had called Vicki as soon as he landed; she had immediately worried and asked if everything was okay. Receiving a phone call at almost eleven at night would alarm anyone, especially if you had a loved one out of the country. A twinge of guilt had assaulted him for being the cause of her concern and of many more things to come. Miraculously he had kept calm and told her there was something he wanted to discuss. She agreed to see him, albeit her confusion and her understanding made him feel like the worst piece of shit; if she only knew.

 Each mile closer to that house where Dee and he had spent so much time, so many happy moments with Misha, Vicki, and West spiked his doubts. The pit of his belly singed and the sensation agitated the swarm of Africanized bees making his flesh buzz. _Don’t do it, it’s a mistake, this is wrong_ , an inconsolable voice in his head shrieked. He shook his head to drown it, but he couldn’t because it wasn’t inside his head but in his heart. Jensen knew he had been acting like the worse jackass in the history of jackasses, because he had been ignoring Misha’s calls since he left for Haiti four days ago. Even Dee and Jared had questioned him about it somewhat taken aback.

 Misha had called them to ask if he was fine. And Jensen had to come up with an improvised believable excuse to justify himself. (“My cell has been acting up; I think it might be the battery. Sometimes it doesn’t show miss calls or received texts; I’ll have to go get this taken care of. But tell him I’m fine and sorry,” was his lame ass excuse). Dee bought it because she couldn’t see him, but Jared on the other hand, gave him these assessing looks that prompted him to scurry off every time.

 As he parked in front of the cozy and unpretentious house, a house Misha built with his own hands and furnished with his own creations, he fought back the tears that threatened to blind him. Yet he lost the battle against the wretched sob that slashed his throat. The chilling sound echoed in the silence of the car and he had to clasp his hands over his ears to muffle the noise. His head suddenly felt heavy, so he let it rest against the cool steering wheel. Prickly eyes snapped shut and labored breaths heaved his chest, stiff shoulder muscles ached and frigid toes felt numb; his arid mouth demanded water as a full body shudder bulldozed through him— everything screamed of his emotional anarchy —how was he supposed to go through with this and function afterwards?

Mechanically, he killed the engine and let his feet guide him through the Asian-style wood entry, down the short cement path and up the steps to the dark wood front door. A stiff index finger rang the doorbell as his eyes darted around the dimly lit front yard. His heart flopped to his feet at the speed of a free-falling elevator when the door opened wide.

Jensen tried his best to let a half smile curve his lips and he hoped it didn’t look as forced as it felt. A soft smile and a curious look, a peck on the cheek and a light squeeze on his left arm; that was how Vicki welcomed him into her home. Such unadulterated warmth; one of the many things he’ll miss. He sincerely prayed that the many relationships wouldn’t be permanently damaged. Jensen wanted to believe that after some time Misha and he could joke around and smile genuinely at one another. And also that Vicki would greet him again like he is part of the family, that his decision won’t affect their relationship with Danneel. It all sounded like a utopian dream, but he needed to believe in the possibility lest he’ll go crazy. _Wishful thinking_ , a voice dripping with derision scoffed.

“Get in here Ackles, I was surprised to receive such a late night call from you,” Vicki commented as she gave him a backward glance on their way to the family room.

Briskly, he toed off his dark gray boots, but decided to leave on his distressed black leather jacket. For a moment, he considered spilling everything where he stood by the door. A whiff of eucalyptus and baby powder swirled inside his nostrils and oddly enough calmed him down a bit. And at the sight of West asleep inside his playpen his heart nearly burst with overwhelming emotion. Faint lighting pierced the white oval shade of the ring-shaped metallic table lamp; it delicately spilled over the butter-colored walls. The round and sturdy cherry coffee table was littered with a knitted dog-shaped baby rattle and a wooden baby key set, a half drunk glass of water and an almost empty bag of kale chips, as well as a laptop and a stack of papers. It drew a real smile to his lips. The comfortable cream-colored couch with its soft cushions and colorful pattern throw pillows where he had sat countless times enticed him. Yet, his feet took him directly towards the peacefully slumbering chubby-cheeked baby. Jensen forced his hands to stay glued to his sides and tried to remain relaxed; he would miss this easy and laid back air. It hurt to think about it.

“Misha told me he has tried to call you, but couldn’t get in contact with you. He was so worried, you know how he is, but D told him your phone is acting up. His body and good intentions are there, but his heart and mind are here with us… _with you_.” Jensen didn’t need to hear that, because he already knew.

One last lingering look at West and then he drew in a lengthy breath, now or never. When he turned, Vicki’s gaze was set upon him gauging his intentions; her brows furrowed but her body was tension free. _For now_ , an unhelpful thought highlighted. He couldn’t meet her keen light brown eyes, too ashamed of himself, so he fixed his gaze on one of the throw pillow instead.

“What’s wrong Jensen?” Her voice sounded closer now, but still hushed; the weight of her gaze suffocated him.

Jensen shifted his weight from his left foot to his right one and rubbed his sweaty hands on his hips. As his shoulders hunched, an almost painful gulp made it down his throat and then he stammered, “I-I, um, I’m here to uh, I want to terminate mine and Misha’s relationship agreement.” He felt his body sway as the last word left his mouth; his mind was a chaotic mess of flashing light and darkness.

A sharp intake of breath and a suddenly she was inches away from his face; her eyebrows shot up almost to her hairline, glasses slightly crooked. His heart thunder clapped against his ribs as unblinking eyes stared at him as if trying to solve a puzzle. To say he was ready to let go of the flimsy thread of strength that kept him standing and sprawl on the polished hardwood floor was an understatement. He just stood there like an anvil and waited, dry mouthed and breathless.

“What? Why? I-I don’t understand…I mean, you are in your right to do it, but…,” her voice trailed away as her hand buried in her dark messy bun and the other took a hold of her glasses. “Look at me.”

_Why?_ He didn’t want to answer that question or meet her eyes.

A heavy sigh left him in shreds, but he pushed through the throbbing, “I-I God…it’s better for everyone, because this is risky and you have West now and we need to think of our careers…” _Fuck, fucking motherfucking shit!_

“Huh? I, Jensen have you told all of this to Misha? Have you told him about your worries? Is this because of that tweet? Or the one Jared tweeted? Did something else happen?” The barrage of questions paralyzed him as if they were venom-filled quills.

Jensen’s right hand flew to his nape and scratched at it violently as if trying to dig him out of his taut skin. He let his eyelids screw shut and then he shook his head. “He knows I’m a private person, but it isn’t only about those tweets and I’m not mad at him. It’s just…Vicki, this relationship is wrong, if someone were to discover it and exposes us; everyone will be smeared with shit. And now you have West to think about …” His voice dwindled and he turned his back to her. If confessing these things to her was harrowing, he couldn’t imagine how it would have felt if it was Misha instead.

A bitter scoff and a clack rushed through his ears; _she must have thrown her glasses_ , he thought.

“Wrong? You think your relationship is wrong? You know I’m in that type of relationship as well right? That it is a reality for many people and as valid as any other type of relationship; I didn’t think you were this fucking ignorant and insensitive. And what’s more, you are using **_my_ ** son as an excuse to justify your insecurities,” she hissed and the hair on his nape rose. His tongue was a ship anchored to his mouth— he couldn’t deny the accusations.

A firm hand squeezed his shoulder and nudged him to turn around. Thank goodness he felt too numb to cry the tears drowning him. A glimpse of her face and his insides fractured—violent lines of anger and splattered sadness etched the previously fond visage. He wanted to flee.

“Why don’t you talk things over with him? In the contract, you both agreed to resolve problems together and even if it wasn’t stated there, it’s the responsible thing to do. Jensen, don’t make rash decisions because you are overwhelmed by fear. Center yourself, clarify your feelings and determine your issues, and then confront him,” she urged as concern permeated every word. _Vicki was right, God, she is right, but---_

He shook his head again, like the weak asshole he was. And at that, her hand drop off his shoulder and her lips thinned out into a straight line; a few steps back and she was out of his personal space. It should’ve relieved him, but it felt like a punch in the face with pointy brass knuckles.

Another scoff as her fists clenched on her sides, “So you are asking **_me_** to break my husband’s heart, because you are too much of a coward to confront him and do it yourself.” It wasn’t a question; he was really asking this of her as if he was a teenager breaking up a few days old relationship. Jesus, he had fallen so low it disgusted him _._

“For how long have you been thinking about doing this?”

Jensen cleared his tears knotted throat and replied in an undertone, “For a couple of weeks.” At his answer, she made a face of disbelief so he quickly added, “But it has always been in the back of my head, the risk is too great; things are getting out of hand and it’s troubling.” Jensen was too ashamed to maintain eye contact with eyes that seem to want to incinerate him whole, so he let his gaze fall down to the floor.

“So you always felt this way about the relationship and never spoke to Misha. You let him fall more and more, you worried him and made him blame himself for your distant behavior; you made him so anxious that for days he had trouble falling asleep. Even the day of his flight to Haiti, he called me nearly frantic and on the brick of hyperventilating because he thought he had done something to make you hate him.” His head snapped back up so fast his neck cracked.

“No, I-I could never hate him, it isn’t him it’s-”

“It’s you… seriously Jensen, you are the quintessential coward. You could have told him before he left or even before that; you had so many opportunities, yet you waited until he left and then came here to make me the executioner. But I’ll do it, I will shatter him and then I will pick up the pieces; he will be crushed and a mess, but he’ll get over this. I sincerely hope doing this will give you the peace of mind you want, though I doubt it.” There was fury engraved in the edges of each word, but also a drop of warmth he didn’t deserve.

“I’m sorry Vi-”

“ ** _Don’t_** , I don’t want to hear it, please leave.”

A spear to his chest would have hurt less than those words. It was a monumental effort to command his feet to walk out the door and leave half of his heart behind. This was the end of the two happiest years of his life and no one else was to blame but his own cowardice. One last look at West and Vicki, at the house that had been his second home and then he walked away.

***

The drive home was a blur; he didn’t know how he had made it there without getting into an accident. His mind was too muddled to think clearly; the muddy taste of the words spoken heavy in his mouth. Jensen didn’t even remember unlocking the front door and walking like a robot upstairs to his bedroom. When he opened the door, his eyes darted around searching for the only person capable of soothing his pain if only a little. The queen size bed was unmade and the soft light of a ring-shaped table lamp the only source illuminating the space. Once inside the bedroom, he locked the door and at the sound, the bathroom door opened. There was his wife; hair up in a ponytail, wearing a creamy lace knit romper and barefooted. The sight of her gave him a modicum of peace; he just wanted to hug her and forget about the farraginous feelings that saturated him.

“Hey baby, I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow…Jay what wrong?” Her surprised tone switched to concern in a microsecond and more guilt perched on his shoulders. All of a sudden, he was engulfed with exhaustion and his legs buckled; if it wasn’t for Dee’s quick reaction he would have landed on the light colored bamboo floor knees first.

“Jensen, sweetie you’re scaring me, c’mon let’s sit.” Danneel’s voice was quiet in his ear and her arms around his waist warm. He didn’t know how he got to the bed or when she had rid him of his boots and jacket; he was there physically, but his essence was in a sort of purgatory that didn’t allow for any reprieve.

The smell of mint and sweet pea; delicate hands cradling his face and a loving kiss to his lips—small loving gestures that lured some of his attention back to reality. When his eyes finally focused, he was met with luminous light brown eyes brimming with worry. He wanted to lift his arms and embrace her, but all of him was weighted down by the gravity of his actions.

“What happened sweetheart? Are you feeling sick? Please talk to me.” He didn’t deserve so much concern, because it was his fault he was in this laughable state, that everything is destroyed. _This is what I wanted; everything will fall back into place again as if nothing happened_ , his own voice reassured him. _Lies, nothing will ever be the same, how could it be?_ The same voice boomed. And he felt a headache jackhammer its way into his head.

“I-I…um, Dee, I broke up with Misha,” he stammered out in a croaky voice alien to him. Each word burned the oxygen that filled his lungs.

A sharp intake of breath and her thumbs caressing his cheekbones froze. “What? Why? Today? I-I don’t understand, he told me he comes back tomorrow…did you do it over the phone?”

Jensen swallowed and shook his head; the hands on his thighs curled until his knuckles popped. In a stuttering pathetic mess of a voice, he told her everything word for word, yet he wasn’t brave enough to look her in the eyes. Not because she would judge him, but because he was too ashamed of himself. He never knew he was such a coward; not even when he was planning to propose to Dee had he felt this shaken. She listened without interrupting, while her hands held his icy ones; the weight of her gaze a blanket of comfort.

“I’m a chickenshit, aren’t I? He will hate me Dee. How will I be able to live with that? I mean, this is what’s best for everyone… no, no those are just excuses. But it’s done an- and it’s better this way right? Fu—ck, dammit, I couldn’t risk it anymore; because I’m sure that one day I would have completely forgotten where we were and kissed him or held his hand, and then what?”

“Baby, shh. Take a deep breath,” she whispered as one of her hands tightened on his and the other patted his cheek. Jensen did as he was told and took a slow, shaky inhale; it did little to appease the pain that ran rampant throughout his body and mind, but at least he wasn’t seeing stars anymore.

“I understand your reasons, they are valid. You are thinking about everyone involved and that speaks of your good heart. You are willing to suffer for what you think is the right decision, but you weren’t the only one in the relationship, Jensen. Misha would have understood. You guys had made it work for two years without anyone-”

“Dee please…it’s done.”

“But you’re _in love_ with him _.”_

And those were the words that crushed him mercilessly; he had tried so hard to avoid hearing them inside his head. Now hearing them spoken out loud, he didn’t have the strength to battle his tears anymore. Jensen fell victim to a full body tremor that brought forth unstoppable waterworks, and then let he himself be cocooned in the safety of his wife’s arms. He must look unsightly, because men don’t cry; _what would dad say?_ Jensen thought in passing, before the last of his coherent thoughts was swept away and he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

“Let it all out sweetie, cry until it stops hurting.”

_Then he will need a new pair of eyes, because he didn’t think it’ll ever stop hurting._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feels?


	5. ~Breaking At The Bridges~

_**And I told you to be patient,**_  
 _**And I told you to be fine,**_  
 _**And I told you to be balanced,**_  
 _**And I told you to be kind,**_  
 _**And now all your love is wasted,**_  
 _**Then who the hell was I?**_  
 _**'Cause now I'm breaking at the bridges,**_  
 _**And at the end of all your lights.**_  
  
_**Who will love you?**_  
 _**Who will fight?**_  
 _**And who will fall far behind?**_

**~“Skinny Love,” Bon Iver**

As soon as he walked inside the house he knew something was wrong. Vicki abruptly stopped her walk around the living room as her hands squeezed a sleeping West in her arms. And to make matters worse, her eyes flitted away from his gaze as if a scared pigeons fleeing to safety. He dropped his keys in the bamboo bowl set on a little wooden table next to the door; then he set down his luggage careful not to make too much noise. West’s afternoon nap should never be interrupted, they learned the hard way. Every line of his wife’s body was as stiff as a board, yet her voice was as steady and warm as always.

“Hi M, welcome back; you look tired but your eyes are smiling. I can’t wait to hear everything about the trip and how the project is moving along.” As she spoke, one of her hands reached up to caress his scruffy cheek and then her face met his half way for a kiss; it was slow and sweet but edged with a feeling that stirred thick dust inside of him. When their lips parted, he trapped her gaze whilst his knuckles skittered over his son’s cheek.

“You are nervous, what’s going on?” A million thoughts whirlwind inside his head and none of them were good; he almost wanted to say ‘forget it’, but he has been acting like too much of coward lately. Yet despite his calm exterior, his heart was a bundle of raw nerves barely hanging by a silk thread. At his words, he felt her breathing stutter under his hand at the same time elusive eyes escaped his hold. _Fuck!_

An earsplitting gulp and then Vicki voiced quietly, “Let me bring him to his crib and we will talk.” She left in haste, leaving behind a thick miasma that depleted him of most of his strength. His feet grew roots on the spot; even if he wanted to move, he couldn’t—from the inside out, his body had been tingling with a sense of bad omen.

“Misha. Misha? Hey there, c’mon.” Through the night fog that enmeshed his mind, a scissor-like voice set him free and he found himself being pulled by his hand and on the way to the sofa. _I like this couch, it’s comfortable and many good memories had been made here,_ he thought as he let his body fall heavy on the cushions. His hands felt warm blanketed by his wife’s delicate hands, yet invisible frostbite kisses brushed his fingertips.

“Vicki, what is it?” he murmured with a clumsy tongue.

A deep breath and a flick of tongue over dry lips and then hesitant eye contact; the wait was agonizing. “Jensen came by last night and um,” her defeated sigh rushed inside his body and staked his heart; he didn’t want to hear anything else.

She told him word for word what Jensen had confessed; no detail was left out. Each invidious word that left his wife’s mouth spread a corrosive feeling in his bloodstream. In seconds, his heart went from jumping on cottony clouds to plummeting towards unforgiving brambles. His vocal cords were shackled by the acrimonious tears that burned in a lump in his throat, whilst his brain sprinted from thought to thought—he should have known it would come to this. Eventually good dreams were meant to end, leaving behind a sensation of emptiness and loss. _Had a jinn poisoned him with its touch and played with his deepest desires?_ Because this felt like an out-of- body experience; his mind, heart, body, and soul each its own entity and utterly disconnected with one another. His mind wanted to understand _why_ and his heart wanted to _ask ‘How could you do this to us?_ ’ On the other hand, his body wanted to _hunt_ Jensen down and let his rage talk, yet his soul despite the pain, _understood_ if only a bit Jensen’s reasons.

“Misha, hey… _Dmitri_ , say something, anything.” Her pleading voice was sandpaper over raw skin and he couldn’t deal with it or anything else for the matter. Everything in his world fell away, except the harsh throbbing echoing through the hollow space in his heart Jensen used to fill.

“I-I uh, I need to be alone.” He pulled his clammy hands away and leaned forward to press an apologetic kiss on her forehead. Vicki’s face wasn’t design to bear sorrow; the expression caused a bilious feeling to roil his stomach.

“Okay, but remember I am here, always by your side,” she declared firmly as her fingers closed around his wrist. The only thing he could do was nod; lest he rupture like a dilapidated pipeline and spilled every last drop of poison coursing through his veins.

Misha didn’t know how he made it to his home office with such uncoordinated feet; every step unbalanced as if he was walking on a rickety bridge. As soon as he closed the door, he leaned against it and then let himself slip down to the floor; shaky hands covered his face as he blew out a slow breath and his shoulders hunched. Behind his shut eyes, memories of happier times were projected in vibrant colors, but as seconds passed they were replaced by a kaleidoscope of black and grey images. Multiple warnings had been given to him, only his eyes had been masterfully blindfolded by amorous feelings; he had been a fool until the end. He brought his folded legs against his chest, looped his arms around them and rested his head on his knees—it was all he could do to keep himself together.

Misha wanted to hurl glass vases against the pristine white walls; he wanted to carpet the floors with the stacks of papers on his desk and the books in the bookshelves; the need to shout and scream his fury and heartbreak off his chest was unbearable, as if splintered arrows wedged between his ribs. But he did none of it, because it wasn’t fair to Vicki or to his son; because he was out of strength to destroy, too grief-stricken by the murder of half of his heart. So he did it all inside the corridors of his head and stayed there until he regained his senses. Hysterical laughter overtook him at the thought of being so insignificant in the eyes of Jensen. He had so little respect for Misha that he broke up via another person—his wife. God, he hated Jensen for making her do it, for painting that devastated look on her face. Every muscle in his body felt numb, he must have been sitting here for hours; the muted natural light barely coloring the walls made him drowsy—sleep was the best escape from this nightmare. But just when he was about to let his body sprawl on the floor a knock startled him.

He rose up on jelly-like legs that tingled from the tip of his toes to his thighs and slowly reached for the doorknob. In front of him, Vicki stood with a more composed visage, though it might be his bleary eyes playing tricks on him. It soothed him somewhat to see her look her usual self, but he knew that wasn’t completely true because it will take a long time to go back to normal. ‘ _Normal’_ he scoffed inwardly, he loathed that word with all his might. _Fuck normal._

“I made kale soup, come eat some.” Her outstretched hand and steady voice was a balm to his chafed emotions. Misha wasn’t hungry, but he wouldn’t let himself worry his amazing woman even more, thus he enlaced their hands together and walked towards the kitchen.

After eating half a bowl of soup, taking a long hot shower and shaving his week old beard, he joined Vicki in their bed. As soon as he sat next to her, back against the solid maple headboard, she closed the book she had been reading and reached for the lamp to dim the light. The inch between them instantly got erased, when her right arm wrapped around his waist and she tucked him into her side. Except for the quiet sound of their breathing, nothing else could be heard. He usually delighted in the solitude of silence, only right now his mind was pillaged by a barrage of chaotic thoughts. Misha’s eyelids felt as heavy as snow covered roofs about to collapse; _I could easily surrender to slumber_ , he thought, as his head rested on his wife’s firm shoulder. The faint aroma of vanilla traveled up his nostrils and diffused all over his body.

It had been a handful of long stressful days; traveling and getting everything set up to begin construction of the orphanage. But despite how busy he had been, those days spent miles away from his loved ones hadn’t felt as heartrending as the last few hours. His gut feeling had been wiser than his bliss-brimmed heart or denial-ridden mind. He should have seen it coming, because since that night they went to Jared’s room and Matt and Seb made those comments; Jensen had begun distancing himself. And it was most certainly made worse by that fucking tweet he made against his better judgement. He had been swept away by the adrenaline of their intense love making; his mind fogged by the waterfall of endorphins that intoxicated his blood. But what might have pushed Jensen over the edge must have been the picture and the too compromising comment (by Jensen’s standards) attached to it that Jared tweeted the next day. Not that he blamed his friend for his…his ex-lover’s decision of course.

But fuck Jensen, because that son of a bitch didn’t have to act like a dick and end things in that way; as if what they had had been a mere dalliance and not a serious relationship. No, for Jensen what they had hadn’t meant as much as it did to him, of course not, because he was an imbecile.

How ridiculous he must have looked in those green eyes.

He was a stupid, stupid man.

A crackling sea of emotions disinterred a despairing supplication out of his mouth, at the same time his arms draped over her neck. “Please, don’t ever leave me, Vicki.”

Vicki rearranged herself to accommodate him and loop her arms around his shoulders, so tightly it hurt. “Don’t be silly M. I will always be here. Always. It’s where I belong,” she voiced softly, yet the ironclad words grounded him effortlessly.

After a long moment, he spoke again, this time his voice wasn’t as feeble, “Tell me again his reasons.”

“Misha why-”

“Please,” he insisted and leaned back to fix his gaze on hers even if for a second.

A weary sigh left her and then she uttered, “He said that it was too risky to continue, because things were getting out of control and we had to think about West, our careers; that the arrangement wasn’t-”

“Convenient?” He scoffed; the word left a putrid aftertaste on his tongue that nearly made him retch. “I was an idiot for falling for him when I knew his deep-seated issues were indomitable walls. To him what we had was an experiment, albeit a long one. But he seemed so genuine; his words I felt were true and our intimate moments were… can a person lie so well? Even if he’s a talented actor, do you think someone can fake love flawlessly? Why didn’t he talk to me? Why-”

A flash flood of tears submerged his voice as they streamed down his cheeks; it burned his skin as if it were hydrofluoric acid. They tasted bitter and salty and coppery like blood siphoned from his lacerated heart.

This rupture enshrouded him in excruciating pain and unmitigated fury; each thought a gangrenous wound that will forever ache. Soothing arms tightened their hold and offered him a safe haven away from this hell.

***

A couple of days passed since he’d seen Vicki and one since Misha returned from his trip. Jensen was both relieved and disappointed that he hadn’t even received a phone call from Misha. He had somewhat mentally braced himself for a few harsh words reproaching him for his cowardice. After all, what he had done was low, the actions of a scumbag. Jensen felt nauseous every time he remembered Friday night, which was fairly taxing, because it happened continually throughout the day. His skin felt taut and itchy— an itch so unbearable he feared his nails would pull off chunks of flesh. There was also this sharp buzzing underneath it that could only be appeased by a certain pair of skillful hands and a commanding voice—by the person he had hurt and pushed away. Yet despite his physical afflictions, his thoughts were his ultimate enemies, because his mind was like a stirred up hornet’s nest— its stingers sharper than needles. How was he ever going to face Misha?

“Hey, Jay, dude…helloooo,” Jared’s insistent voice grabbed a hold of his space out mind and rooted it back in the present.

“What?” he questioned dumbly, as his gaze cleared and landed upon his best friend’s concerned expression.

“You have been off for some time now, but the past few days even more so. To prove my point, just now you missed a shot you’d have never missed. What’s going on Jensen? And this time, I won’t let you bolt,” the familiar voice was stitched with worry, but determined. When his friend reached him, a broad hand settled on his right shoulder and anchored him in place.

 _No way around this then_ , he thought with a grimace. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Jared, but more about the shame he felt at revealing his wretched actions. He lets his eyes wander around and it was then that he remembered where they were. It was a beautiful golf course; fields of surreal green grass and fences of tall leafy trees, multiple ponds of various sizes and charming wooden bridges— except that it didn’t mattered how bright and pleasant was outside when only darkness reigned behind his eyes.

Jensen’s hand tightened around the golf club and without preamble, he confessed, “I broke up with Misha.”

A gasp rushed out of Jared’s chest at the same time his eyebrows shot up to his hairline. His mouth perfectly imitated a dying fish, whilst his wide eyes searched his for what felt like a century.

“You what? Why?” Jared’s now furrowed brow made Jensen want to scurry away from the unwanted attention; it was the same expression he had seen painted on Dee’s face two days ago.

He didn’t want to repeat himself or talk about the matter, because those words made his mouth taste like debris—the remains of his own heart. A hard swallow slipped down his throat and through the rope of feelings fastened around his neck; the sensation so vivid his right hand flew up to his throat. A reassuring squeeze on his shoulder jolted him back to reality and he turned his flushed face away from sympathetic hazel eyes.

“Let’s go to the club’s café; I heard they added new items to the menu. I won’t push for details, but know that I’m here for you.”

Jensen nodded and they started to gather their things. Relief washed over him at Jared’s words, because he really didn’t want to talk about the reasons that pushed him to make that decision. Not only because it made him felt sick to his stomach, but because every time he spoke those reasons out loud, the more doubt clambered inside his heart. He needed to believe his decision had been the right course of action and he desperately fought to keep himself from drowning in self-doubt. His decision should have given him peace, not driven him into a morass of ‘what ifs’.

***

A few weeks had gone by since _that_ day and he was still feeling as hapless, livid and despondent as he did then. Sitting here on the floor of his living room; legs spread and stretched out and West nested between them, he tried to focus on the moment. A myriad of toys and books were scattered around them, but West’s eyes were glued to the picture of a golden retriever he held in his diminutive hands, courtesy of his paternal grandpa. ‘Dog’ was his first word and his favorite one. He was growing so fast and already walking, albeit like a zombie. Misha had laughed when he came back from a con and his son greeted him in his zombie costume. He had missed West’s first Halloween and he felt a little guilty but Vicki had chided, “M don’t be silly, he won’t even remember it; this doesn’t make you a bad father.”

“Hey West, repeat with me, ‘pa-pa’. C’mon buddy, let’s surprise mama.” All he got was a disinterested quick glance from dark brown eyes and then a mumbled ‘dog’. He couldn’t help the burst of laughter that rocked his shoulders at the display of sass nor could he stop his hands from ruffling silky blond locks. His teasing brought forth a wreath of high pitched laughter and his heart swelled.

Misha realized he could still live with half a heart.

Vicki had gone out to run some errands and buy a birthday present for Lena—her lover. He was genuinely happy for how well their relationship was going; they were both amazing people and their joy comforting to his torn heart. Misha didn’t know where he’d be without his wife’s constant support or the help of his friends. He’d probably be in deep shit and hating himself even more for acting like a prick. Who knew he could be such an asshole and lash out at people who didn’t have anything to do with his misery. Asylum 7 had been difficult, but at least he didn’t have to find ways to avoid undesired encounters. His panel had been bittersweet and he had been victim of a maelstrom of unfettered emotions. He had tried his hardest to keep his shit together, but fuck that was hard, especially when the wound was recently inflicted and deep.

Darius, bless his soul, had accompanied him to the con and had managed to save him from himself. He doesn’t remember much since he had been drunk off his ass, except for the couple of Vicki-related stories he shared with the fans. The bed and engagement stories are amongst his favorites. They made him emotional every time he told them, but it was even more so the case this time. A few tears even made it down his cheeks for God’s sake! His friend had later on told him that he had been a handful for the poor handlers and a snarky bastard whilst he answered fan questions, that he made it a point to avoid answering any questions pertaining to Dean, and had been extremely contemptuous when asked to share his thoughts about Dean and how he treated Cas. And also, that he had made joke after joke of gay innuendo, such as getting aroused when he saw himself on TV (he does remember the joke Darius made about ‘early experiences in cocksucking’ and how he giggled).

In addition, he also admitted enjoying the noises Darius made while he slept because it was like having sex without the exertion (God, he shouldn’t be allowed to drink or be dumped nor have a microphone in hand). He felt bad for deflecting to the audience and making things uncomfortable, but Darius said the fans didn’t seem to mind and that the dirty jokes helped masquerade his distress. At some point, he had also refused to continue photo ops (but thankfully the con staff didn’t allow it) and had also admitted that Dean keeping Cas’s trench coat ‘was a little gay and creepy’.

That last one he doesn’t regret at all.

A sudden vibration next to his left hand braced on the floor shook him out of his retrospection. His eyes glimpsed a familiar name and a mixture of conflicted emotions surged through him. He had spoken to Dee a few days after the shitstorm and it had gone better than he had expected. She asked how he was doing and he responded with a robotic ‘fine’ and then they had wordlessly decided to speak about safer topics, such as Random Acts, GISHWHES, Haiti and auditions. Yet this call in particular unsettled something in him and he almost didn’t answer it.

With a heavy hand and even a heavier sigh, he greeted, “Good afternoon Jared.”

“Hey man, how are you? Haven’t talked to you in a while. How are Vicki and West?” The somewhat forced peppy voice grated his ears and he hoped the call wouldn’t last long.

“We are all doing well. Busy. How about you and Gen?” His hand distractedly reached for one of his son’s favorite book, ‘Little Critters’ and flipped through it with stiff fingers.

“We’re good. She’s a bit nervous because this year we’re hosting our first Thanksgiving dinner for both our families. Filming is almost done for the year, only a few more scenes to shoot and then we’re off for a few weeks.”

“Oh, that’s nice; I’m sure Thanksgiving dinner will turn out fantastic.” Hopefully his voice didn’t sound as dead and monotonous as he heard it. Well, at least it was better than faking emotion.

“You sure you’re okay?” came his friend’s tentative question and damn it all to hell, because those words clawed their way inside his ears and down his belly and eviscerated him. His right hand clenched tightly until it shook, whilst sharp teeth bite down on his tongue to shackle choleric words.

 _‘Yes Jared, I am fucking peachy_ _after being dumped like garbage via my wife by the jerkhole you call best friend with whom I have been in a serious (or so I thought) relationship for the past two years. Yes, I couldn’t be any better, thanks for asking by the way.’_

Misha chose to pretend he hadn’t heard the question and drew in a couple of deep breaths. His eyes followed West around the room as he played with a small basketball; it helped him regain his bearing. He thought his friend had understood his silence, but apparently life had decided to be a bitch to him.

“I’m here for you if you need to talk.”

“Yes, thanks.” He felt like an asshole for rolling his eyes at the well-meaning offer, but his insides seethed with violent irritation.

“Misha.”

 _Fuck,_ he didn’t like the serious tone in which his name was spoken, it could only mean Jared was about to say something he didn’t care to hear. He leaned against the sofa and raked his fingers through his hair as he unwillingly waited for the rest of the words.

“I know you’re upset after the, um…” Jared’s voice faded away, but then he resumed, “But that comment you made about Dean’s decision to hold onto Cas’s trench coat being ‘a little gay and creepy’ was uncalled for, don’t you think?”

A loud snort bounced off the walls and he shook his head as his mirthless laughter made West turned to look at him as if he was a crazy person—maybe he was. Sometimes he thought he had gone mad. The dead silence on the other side of the line prompted him to come out of his agitation, perhaps Jared hanged up taken aback by his reaction, so he looked at the screen to make sure.

No, he wasn’t that lucky today.

“Why is that? I can’t even joke anymore? Even that bothers _him_?” He finally asked feeling drained after the fit.

His friend cleared his throat, before he voiced his thoughts, “No, it isn’t like that. Jay didn’t even say anything about it. The fans would take it as a harmless joke, but we both know you said it with malicious intent. Misha-”

“Oh, so you called not because you cared about my well-being, but to defend your best friend, huh?” He couldn’t help feeling defensive; this situation was just too messed up.

“You’re my friend too,” came Jared’s immediate reply; his voice pure with honesty.

“But he has been your friend, your brother for longer. You know what? For your peace of mind and his, even though he doesn’t deserve it; I will avoid mentioning his name or the name of the character he plays in future panels. I am sure the fans will understand. Happy now?”

Oh yeah, he was in the mood to be a complete jackass and he didn’t give a shit if he sounded like a jilted lover, because in fact, he was.

A short tense pause and then his friend murmured, “That’s not what I…” As the words trailed off a long sigh followed, “He’s hurting too, you know?”

“Mm, he is hurting, huh? How interesting… Why? Isn’t this what he wanted? But _I am glad_ he is hurting, even if it is just because of his bruised pride at how he handled things like a fucking coward,” Misha spat out the hailstorm words without pause and with such rancor that it caught him off guard.

“Misha that’s-”

“Enough, I don’t want to listen to you anymore, goodbye.”

When he ended the call, his eyes sought for his son’s gaze. Those innocent eyes made him feel despicable and dirty, because he wasn’t this apoplectic creature that exploded easily. He was letting his heartache turned him into a person he abhorred.

‘The one who falls in love loses.’ That old adage held incontestable truth— he mistook a game for reality and almost lost himself.

***

The holidays came and went in the blink of an eye and 2012 was already rushing through the first week of January. Only Dee with her eternal patience and love and his friends have been capable of helping him remain sane. Also throwing himself into work has helped distract his body from the incessant buzz under his skin. But no amount of passionate sex and cuddling, baseball games or golfing outings; delicious food and finger licking pie, script reading or lame jokes; guitar playing, singing or favorite music could fill the hollow spot in his aching heart. Nothing was effective enough to rid him of the guilt coiled around his neck like a boa constrictor, but he didn’t deserve any less. At least Christmas hadn’t been as bad as he had thought it would be when Dee and he visited his family. The conversations with his dad had been awkward to say the least, but as the days passed things started to fall into place. He was grateful his dad had gotten the message and reined back the urge to meddle in their marriage. Thank God for small blessings.

Jensen hadn’t seen Misha for a couple of months now and he couldn’t take his absence anymore. And he was so freaking desperate that he had resorted to stalking his Twitter via Jared’s Twitter. He was so fucking pathetic that he Google searched pictures of Misha and saved some on his phone to look at them while he jerks off. Jensen missed him so much that he would spend hours he should be using to rest, on YouTube, watching Misha’s con panels. D would tell him about West, how big he was getting and how he was learning sign language. She would tell him about her lunches with Vicki and sometimes a passing comment about Random Acts, but never about Misha. Not because she didn’t want to, but because he had asked her not to mention him in their conversations, which was bullshit because he was dying to know every detail.

Not a day went by that he didn’t regret his dumbass decision. He wished he could take it all back, erase all the pain he caused.

 _Is it too late for that? Could I be forgiven? Has Misha’s love turned into hate or worse, indifference?_ Jensen prayed at least a drop remained, because he was more than willing to beg for forgiveness.

A tendril of hope unfurled inside his heart and prompted him to reach for his cell set on the night stand and dial a familiar number. His heart drummed against chest, adrenaline high as he waited.

“Hi sweetheart, did you forget to tell me something? Is everything okay?” His wife’s sultry voice trickled through the speaker and wrapped around him like a comforting fleece blanket.

“Everything’s fine beautiful, sorry to call so late, you must be getting ready for bed.” He could have waited until tomorrow to talk to her, because he won’t be making that phone call tonight. Except he couldn’t hold back the landslide of apprehension precipitating towards him nor the body quaking billows of agitated nerves—because what he wanted to accomplish might be impossible. His impatient hand threaded through his damped short hair as he lay in bed enclosed in darkness. _How could I begin to fix the damage I have inflicted? No— a better question would be, am I even going to be allow to try?_

Maybe Misha didn’t feel anything for him anymore. And that thought nearly eroded the little amount of hope holding his heart together.

“Oh please, you can call me at any time silly. You sound strange, what is it?” the fondness in her tone coupled with the memories they made during the holidays caused a feeling of yearning to barrel through him. She has been his rock since the beginning, but more so these past few months. _If it wasn’t for her-_ He shook his head energetically as a way to silence the swarm of calamitous thoughts threatening to tatter him.

“I-I was thinking and-Dee, I-,” _Dammit, what heck?! Just spit it out dude_ , he chastised himself as he wet his lips and gulped down a nest of uneasiness.

“I want him back Dee. I _need_ Misha back,” Jensen declared in an undertone as if saying it louder would somehow doom his wish. Letting the words take flight unburdened him somewhat, but his heart knocked against his ribs like an unruly wrecking ball. On the other side of the line, not even a sharp intake of breath or a gasp nor a single sound emerged. The raucous silence was demoralizing—an ominous sign that cloaked him whole.

“D, what is it? Do you- do you think it’s hopeless?” He felt as small as his susurration; a twig at the mercy of a hurricane. To assuage the maddening buzz under his skin, he dug his nails hard on his exposed right thigh and then clutched it tightly, until the pain shut his eyes.

A noisy swallow ringed his ears and his breathing stuttered. “Jay, honey, I-I don’t know. I mean, Misha and I haven’t talked about what happened or even mentioned your name since…” Her voice trailed away and with it some of his hope.

Meanwhile, his eyes remained shut lest the tears sprung. He wasn’t embarrassed to admit, at least to himself, that they weren’t caused by the stinging of his abused thigh.

“Is he with someone else?” _Don’t answer, please, just lie to me_.

“Of course not.” She sounded so sure, yet he couldn’t help the surge of doubt.

“Dee-Dee, there’s no need for white lies. I can take it, so tell me the truth.” So what if Misha was with someone else? Jensen didn’t have the right to feel hurt or incensed with jealousy.

A noise of irritation traveled through the phone, before she spoke, “Jay, I wouldn’t hide something like that from you. And it’s not like he would tell me if he is with someone else either, unless he wanted to hurt you, which I don’t think it’s the case. For what Vicki had told me, he’s busy with his charities and other projects; plus, he’s still healing from...” A long sigh filled the tense moment and she quickly continued, “You say you want him back, why? Jensen, have you thought it through? Because if you’re still unsure and have doubts, if you’re still afraid of the risks and consequences, then don’t even try; if you can’t show him your commitment and convince him of your feelings, it will be a lost battle before it starts.”

Jensen captured each word as they flowed towards him, played them on repeat and studied them, let his mind spin countless scenarios and put himself in each of them. He weighed the possibilities and consequences of each of them against feeling like a man living half a life. The fans and maintaining his image, his career, his parents, his privacy and everyone’s safety was still extremely important, but so was Misha. If he still felt something for Jensen and if he could convince Misha of how sorry he was for being such a dick; they could work together to make sure all that’s important to them remains protected. He should have done this instead of letting his fear turn him into a chickenshit.

“You know why I broke up our relationship; it wasn’t because I didn’t, um love him, but because of misplaced self-righteousness. If I have talked to you about my fears, you would have knocked some sense into me. You were right Dee, we had made it work for two years, but I let myself be overwhelmed with toxic thoughts. I need to fix this, whatever it takes.” His words sounded steadier and stronger than he felt, yet an unwavering determination spread from the marrow of his bones to every drop of blood in his veins.

“I’ll always be here to listen to you and support you and call you out on your nonsense,” she said jokingly, though the sincerity wasn’t lost. It sketched a subdued smile on his lips, despite his nerves being on edge. “But you need to tell _him_ all of this and learn how to communicate better. Are you going to call him or go see him? Whichever you decide, know that the outcome might not be as you want it to be. Good luck sweetie, I hope everything goes as you wish it.”

His throat was a tight mess of unshed tears, but he spoke through them, “I love you so much Dee. What did I ever do to deserve you?”

A wreath of melodious laughter tickled his ears. “Oh shush, you’re making me blush. But I can say the same about you, I love you baby. And I just want you to be completely happy. Now go to sleep and tackled that battle tomorrow. Call me.”

“I will. Sweet dreams gorgeous girl.”

“Good night, handsome.” A noisy kiss followed and then he surrendered to a heavy sleep feeling a bit lighter.

Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough. He will fight this war with nothing but his feelings as armor.

***

Multiple phone calls and no answer. Danneel had already warned him, but his heart still felt like a deflated hot air balloon. At first he had chosen not to leave voicemails, because he wanted Misha to hear each word live and not a recording. But after three days he caved and began to leave his most sincere words behind. Jensen hoped the warmth they were endowed with would reach Misha’s heart. He was at the end of his rope after a week of laying bare his heart with zero results, so he resorted to desperate measures.

Jared and he were in his trailer, resting before it was time to go back to set, when he decided to push his dignity aside.

“Jared.” At the grave tone in his voice and expression, his friend turned off the TV and turned in his seat to look at him. His trembling hands clasped his knees to keep his legs from bouncing; he wished he didn’t have to resort to this, but he was out of options. If he could go see Misha he would in a heartbeat, only that wasn’t possible with their recording schedule.

“What is it dude? You’re scaring me.” Hazel eyes flicked around his face and examined it. He had caused so much worry not only to his wife and close friends, but to his coworkers and staff.

A deep, shaky breath rushed up his nostrils and down his throat and inflated his lungs. Afterwards, he slowly blew the air out his mouth and a forced dry swallow moved his Adam’s apple. Jensen compelled his downcast green eyes to connect with quizzical ones and let his vocal cords articulate his desire.

“I have called Misha so many times the past week, but he isn’t picking up. I have left him God knows how many voicemails and nothing. You’re my last option man, I didn’t want to involve anyone else, but I’m freakin’ desperate. So, can you…” The words dwindled in a quiet hush as a quilt of emotions flushed his cheeks crimson and drew his eyes away. His ego vociferated at the undignified display, yet to him, no degree of humiliation was enough to dissuade him.

A firm clasp on his shoulder followed by an enthusiastic, “Let’s do it” wrenched a sigh of relief out of his chest. As Jared’s phone rang, the heat in his mouth evaporated his saliva and fused his lips; his fingers twisted together tightly as if a piece of cloth whilst his breaths froze in the path between his nose and lungs. Each ring, millennia apart—every microsecond an eternity.

“Hello.” One word, with that voice he had missed to the point of waking up, hands scrabbling to hold on its owner and his body almost went limp. From the corner of his eyes, he met his friend’s side-glance; his broad hand still on Jensen’s shoulder, comforting.

“What’s new buddy? Did West finally say ‘papa’?” Jared’s cheery voice loosened his stiff muscles a bit, at the same time something akin to envy sparked inside his heart. But he immediately extinguished it, because nobody else was to blame for his shitty situation but himself. So he waited albeit impatiently for Jared to determine when the right moment to proceed was.

A huffed laughter streamed through the speaker and his heart did a combination of handsprings and pirouettes. And to think he had lived without hearing that sound for months; to think his lame jokes had been the cause for similar ones. Will he be granted that honor again?

“No, he still refuses to speak the words, but he has signed ‘mama’, so I count that as a win. Though Vicki wouldn’t say the same.” A sleek rumble of laughter pierced Jensen’s heart and he nearly let escape a shameful noise. His blunt nails clawed his knees in an attempt to center himself.

Sympathetic eyes peeked at him, but he refused to meet them. He wouldn’t blame Jared if he laughed at his pitiful behavior.

“Why?” his friend prompted.

“Well, I was giving him a bath yesterday and we were practicing the sign for mother. He was doing great; hand open in a ‘5’ shape, his thumb against his chin, but then he moved and his finger slipped inside his mouth and he gagged a bit. He thought that was the most hilarious thing ever, so he did it again but this time with three fingers. Long story short, Vicki didn’t think it was that funny when she came into the bathroom and found West surrounded by puke.”

Another bout of laughter erupted not only from Misha, but from Jared and Jensen almost gave himself away if he didn’t bite down on his balled-up fist.

“That’s disgusting man,” declared Jared, nose scrunched up but lips curled into a wide smile. They exchanged looks and Jensen shook his head in both amusement and disbelief—God, he missed the Collins so much.

“Tell me about it, Vicki made me clean up afterwards.”

Jensen could clearly recognize the signs of faux pouting in Misha’s voice; his eyes must he submerged in delight and decorated with pronounced crinkles, rosy lips stretched to the limit and nose scrunched. Jensen recalls the many times his fingertips catalogued each of those lines; how his fingertips contoured the sharp design of that attractive face—from his once-pierced ear to the dimple on his chin.

“And he almost made another mess; what a delicate flower,” quipped a muffled voice—Vicki. He owed her a legion of apologies. Jensen needed to mend not only his relationship with Misha, but also with Vicki. The image of her fractured face assaults him constantly; it makes his stomach queasy.

A light press on his shoulder shook him out of his pondering and every muscle went taut. The sudden onrush of blood through his ears drowned out all other sounds; _I can’t do it, I can’t---_ Another squeeze, but this time firmer, grounded him and his lungs greedily filled with air.

“Misha, uh, hold on a sec.” His best friend uttered as he turned off the speaker and passed the phone to him, which he received with fretful hands.

“Okay.”

He took a moment to compose himself; his tongue swept over his arid lips and a couple of deep breaths expanded his lungs. One of his hands raked through his hair and traveled down to his neck and a few blinks kept a watery display at bay.

When Jensen felt he had a handle on his nerves, he murmured, “Hi, Mish.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he held his breath and braced himself for the reaction.

A sharp intake of breath was the only reply he received before the call was disconnected. His hand clutched the phone in a dead grip and he sat unmovable for who knows how long. It wasn’t until a familiar voice called his name and dispersed the fog that his mind caught up.

“Misha, he… um, he hung up. He hates me Jared.”

“Jay, man, I don’t think he hates you. He was probably just caught off guard that’s all.”

Jensen shook his head as he tried his best to not come undone in front of his best friend.

“No. He hates me. And he should, because I was a son of a bitch.”

_Was this it? Am I supposed to throw down the boxing gloves and walk away with my tail between my legs, thoroughly defeated?_


	6. ~Empty Space~

_**So take a look at me now** _   
_**Well there's just an empty space** _   
_**And there's nothing left here to remind me** _   
_**Just the memory of your face** _   
_**Ooh, Take a look at me now** _   
_**Well there's just an empty space** _   
_**And you coming back to me is against the odds** _   
_**And that's what I've got to face** _

**~“Against All Odds,” Phil Collins**

  
God, he should be blazing with fury at Jared’s low move, but instead here he was trying and failing miserably to breath properly. As soon as he had heard that nervous _‘Hi, Mish’_ every function in his body momentarily ceased. His mind had become an irrepressible whirlwind of poignant thoughts; each of them ever wending back to Jensen. Misha didn’t think he was as weak as to crumble like a sand castle at that the mere sound of that voice. But he should have known, because today wasn’t the first time his heart has been annihilated by that voice. An overwhelming restlessness jigsaw through him at the onslaught of emotions filling the crevasses of his threadbare soul, and an urge to feel the cool wind on his skin moved him to rise to his feet and walk towards the kitchen.

Misha leaned against the doorjamb and let the his eyes drink in the tender scene before him; his wife sat on one of the kitchen chairs as she read ‘Clifford’s Family’ aloud in a modulated voice and their son stuffed his face with homemade sweet potato bites. A gust of emotion almost manhandled him to sit at the table and forget the stupid idea of going on a bike ride. Yet an overpowering need to clear his head spurred him into action. He waited until Vicki finished her sentence and then spoke.

“I’m heading out, will be back in an hour or so.” A few steps took him to the pair staring at him inquisitively. One of his hands curled around the crook of her neck, whilst the other reached to steal one of the potato bites. West’s small hand tried to bat his away, but he was quicker and an annoyed growl cause Vicki and him to giggle.

“Where are you going at this hour? What happened?” She could decipher his mood with one glance, no use in denying anything.

After he finished chewing, he admitted in a quiet tone, “Jared put Jensen on the phone. I freaked out and hanged up and now I’m a mess. I need fresh air, so I’m going on a bike ride.”

She nodded and covered his hand on her shoulder with her palm. Keen eyes searched his gaze for a second, before she admitted, “I don’t like the idea of you going out on a bike ride in this rainy weather as distracted as you are, but if you must, then please be careful.”

A half smile formed on his lips at her concern and immediately assured her, “I will be fine, promise.”

He leaned down and dropped a chaste kiss on her lips and then patted his son on the cheek.

In a couple of minutes he was out the door and cycling down the street; belatedly he realized that he should have worn a hoodie over his blue t-shirt. The misty night air moistened his exposed flesh, whilst a cool temperature made goosebumps swell. As he pedaled, the scent of petrichor ensorcelled his nostrils and he let out what felt like the longest sigh of his life. His eyes wandered up to the inky pitch black and slightly cloudy sky; a moonless, starless night— it was breathtaking in its own right. The street lamps flickered on and as the light hit the rain carpeted pavement it became an instant fresco. A few cars breezed by, yet his senses remained unperturbed by the external noises; it was already obstreperous inside his head. In that moment, he wished he didn’t have to wait until the summer to go on his ten day meditation retreat. A string of voicemails replayed in a loop in his mind to the point of making him tipsy.

**_“Misha---Mish, we need to talk. I know I was an asshole and a coward to end things that way, to end things at all. I-I need you to hear me out, give me a chance to explain myself. Please Mish, please.”_ **

How dare that bastard use such a hoarse voice to call him that nickname? He shouldn’t have listened to that first voicemail or the ones that followed. They had been a well laid trap.

**_“Misha, please answer the phone. You don’t know how much I regret what I did. I miss you like crazy. My heart is half empty, dead; a hollow mess without you. Please let me apologize properly.”_ **

He should have deleted those messages and the file with Jensen’s pictures. Plenty of times he had been tempted to do it; when memories raided his dreams and like sharpened scalpels reopened the barely healed wound, yet in the end he couldn’t press the button.  

**_“Mish, I know you must hate me, but I--- My mind is a jumbled mess man. I have been making rookie mistakes during my scenes and I can see that everyone’s fed up with my absentmindedness. All of this is my fault. Let me fix it. Please.”_ **

_Hate him_ , if it were that easy he wouldn’t be in shambles. Despite himself, he couldn’t gather not even a dollop of hate or indifference towards Jensen. He had been hurt not in his pride, but in his love. And that was the problem, he was still in love and he didn’t know what to do with it.

**_“I ate the steak and potatoes from that place you bought from last time.... It didn’t taste the same. Everything I eat tastes bland. I miss the flavor of your fingers as they feed me. Please, hear me out, Mish.”_ **

Misha had been so lost in the maze of his mind that he hadn’t realized until it was too late that he was going dangerously fast. A glance at his bike watch indicated he was going at 55 mph. How had he reached that speed without even noticing?! The worse part was that he didn’t have enough time to hit the brakes.

 _Fuck! Vicki’s going to be pissed,_ was his first thought as he was falling down the hill; his body no longer on the bike but midair and movements out of his control. He felt as if a rag doll at the mercy of gravity whilst he precipitated towards a ditch. _I’m still alive, I’m still alive, but I’m gonna die. Sorry Vicki, West…Jensen._ Their names were the last things that flashed through his mind before he landed hard and unconsciousness claimed him.

***

When he finally awoke after who knows how long, he found himself in a hospital?! His banged up body rested on a gurney and a blanket covered him; his helmet-free head felt heavy but otherwise intact (thank goodness he had enough presence of mind to wear a helmet, if not…). There was an oxygen mask over his face as well as a neck brace that immobilized his neck; his left arm was also hooked up to an IV. His disoriented eyes dashed around the space as panic bloomed inside of him like a burning bush; he was alive, he hadn’t died, Vicki, he needed to let her know where he was. A clumsy right hand moved up to grab and pull down the oxygen mask and immediately flaccid words stumbled out of his cottony tasting mouth.

“My-My wife, call her, ple-please, my phone,” he stammered whilst the same trembling hand reached down to his front jean pocket. The nurse, a middle age woman standing next to him, shushed him with a comforting smile while she positioned the IV pole closer to the gurney. Before she spoke, deft hands lifted his head and removed the oxygen mask.

“Calm down Mr. Collins, we will contact your wife, but first answer a few questions for me. Do you think you can do that?”

The steadiness of her voice and the softness of her tone told him he wasn’t in critical condition, so he let out a relieved sigh, but immediately regretted it. A whine ripped from his chest and his fists clenched; his entire body felt as if it had been run over by a steamroller. Some areas on his chest, abdomen, flanks, back, and limbs felt aflame and stung something awful. Speaking of his legs, when he tried to move his left one he couldn’t; something was holding it in place. To make sure he wasn’t imagining things, he wiggled his right leg and despite a dull continuous pain probably caused by the bruises and scrapes, he was free to move it. _Which means my left leg is badly hurt. What if it had been permanently damaged? Oh God_ … a nervous gulp and his chest heaved with ragged, painful breaths.

But as dread attempted to widespread through him like a wildfire, a warm hand touched his upper right arm. “You lost consciousness a few times, scared us a bit. Dr. Patiño had to apply a splint after evaluating your injury and determining it wasn’t a displaced fracture. We gave you some pain medication to reduce the pain and inflammation. The doctor will come back later to explain everything in detail. Now, I will ask you a few questions and then we will call your wife Vicki and, also this Jensen you kept calling for. Deal?”

Misha’s eyes went impossibly wide, so wide he winced at the sudden throbbing in his head. He had gotten into a severe bike accident (stupid fucker), his leg was screw up but not as bad as he thought (thank goodness) and he had called Jensen in his delirium—great. Because at the moment he couldn’t make his vocal cords articulate not even a simple yes, he nodded. Vicki will never let him live this down. _Crap_ , he had worried her again with his inability to handle his shit.

After answering the questions satisfactorily, the nurse, uh Betty grabbed his phone from the side table and dialed his wife. His ears perked up at the sound of a familiar voice, but no matter his effort, he couldn’t pick up Vicki’s side of the conversation; it required too much effort and his eyelids were barely open. Add to that a skull shattering headache and the multiple bruises and missing chunks of skin and he was ready to sleep until September comes.

“Yes ma’am, he is stable and in no immediate danger. He is conscious and we just had a chat. Your husband suffered a leg injury, but that was the worst part of the accident. The doctor will come later to explain everything, so I suggest you are here by then.” Betty gave him a backwards glance; Vicki must have asked to speak to him, so he made the effort to lift his hand but it was for naught—it felt as heavy as a block of cement.

“Right now your husband can’t speak coherently. We gave him some pain medication and he’s fighting against sleep. Yes, Mrs. Collins, we will see you in a few.”

Misha’s eyes blinked opened when the cell was set down on the table. A reassuring subdued smile greeted him and he urged his lips to respond in turn, thought it might have come out as a grimace instead. “What did…?” God, his tongue didn’t want to cooperate with him; it moved like a clumsy snake inside his mouth.

“Your wife is worried of course, but when I explained the situation, she calmed down a bit. She said she’ll be here in less than an hour. Now is time for me to clean and dress your wounds. I hope you aren’t attached to this t-shirt because I have to cut it. Pity though, the color brings out your beautiful eyes,” whilst she spoke, she washed her hands and then gathered some supplies on a steel tray.

“Hmm, I do favor this t-shirt. Had it for ten years. Guess I don’t have a choice but to part with it,” he slurred; his breathing now even.

“Wow, that’s a long time, I’m impressed. Nowadays, people don’t keep clothes for so long, with what the ever changing fashion and all,” came her easy response as she reached for a pair of scissors.

“Yes, that’s true… but I get attached to things… _and people_ ,” the last words an inaudible whisper. Betty’s laid back attitude and serene aura, good disposition and kind face soothed his frayed nerves. He even dared to ask her something others in her place would have scoffed at.

“Hey Betty, do you mind taking a few pictures of me before you rip my clothes off?” he asked jokingly, a wan smile on his lips.

The question startled a laugh out of the petite nurse and a chastising stare from a passerby. “Oh Mr. Collins you-”

“Misha, call me Misha, Betty.”

A deep pink blush highlighted her plump cheeks at the same time she uttered, “Okay, Misha then. You want to remember your dramatic trip to the ER or immortalize your favorite t-shirt?”

“Both thought I guess I can take my torn t-shirt and try to sew it back together.”

“A new fashion statement, I like it. I will fold it with utmost care and give it to your wife for safe keeping,” Betty replied as she snapped a few pictures. Depending on the severity of his leg injury, he might not make it to February’s Nashville Con and he didn’t want the fans to worry. So he’ll post these and a few words of reassurance.

After Betty was done with the pictures and before setting the phone on the table, she questioned, “Oh! I nearly forgot. Do you want me to call Jensen? Is he family?”

At the questions, his stomach flipped fiercely and he was afraid he would throw up, so he let his eyelids drift closed and drew in a deep breath. A handful of seconds later, he breathed a feeble, “No.”

Misha fervently hoped he didn’t have to elaborate. _Jen_ \- Jensen had been family to him, to Vicki and West; he had been embraced wholeheartedly with every drop of warmth; he had adored every inch of that man with everything he was—and it still hadn’t been enough to merit him a face to face explanation.

“Okay… this isn’t going to be pleasant, but it’s necessary. We don’t want the wounds to get infected, so bear with me. I’ll leave this here in case your tummy rebels,” she pointed out as she placed a square, gray container beside him on the bed.

“Thank you.”

“Here we go,” her gloved hands moved gracefully but surely around his body, as she cut off his t-shirt and jeans. Only his orange boxer briefs remained after she was done with the scissors, but he was too beat up to feel self-conscious. He welcomed darkness when his eyelids caved in due to his exhaustion, yet his rest was short lived. A loud sibilant sound left his mouth as his body jolted from a rippling intense pain. A considerably big scrape, still slightly bleeding, near the left side of his bellybutton was the cause. The applied pressure was gentle, but still burned and stung; red spots tinted the sterile bandage until the bleeding ceased. His hands clutched the white sheets at the same time sharp teeth nearly cracked his bottom lip, as he tried to breathe through the unpleasant experience.

“You are doing well; if you feel like you need to throw up go for it. A few more minor cuts and scrapes to treat and then you can rest. The pain meds seem to be wearing off, so I’ll give you some more,” Misha let her light voice serenade him throughout the process. After scattered jolts and hisses, quiet whines and a wreath of colorful words, all his wounds were perfectly bandaged. A sigh of relief relaxed his pummeled muscles, which would have felt nice at any other time but this. Every breath he took was a pointed dagger thrust into his sore body.

“I will be back with the drugs,” Betty announced in a secretive tone followed by a playful wink as she walked out of the room.

He was seriously fucked if a wink makes him want to curl up and weep. A series of images he couldn’t bear to even glimpse at assaulted his mind; the happiness of his past self, caused a bilious feeling in his stomach and that same feeling clamped it violently. Soon enough, he was spewing everything he had eaten that day inside the gray container. The effort rocked his shoulders and heaved his back and chest; tears swamped his eyes and soaked his cheeks, whilst a full body shudder caused a severe shooting pain to erupt from his lower left leg. A low cry crept out of his agape mouth, in the meantime, his hands curled tighter around the container; he screwed his eyes up as a shaky inhale tried to pacify his upset stomach.

Out of the blue, he felt a delicate hand rub circles on his upper back and another dab a cool washcloth on his forehead and lips. “Better?”

“Yes,” he croaked and right away the container was pried off his hands. Betty helped him rinse his mouth and carefully lay him back on the gurney mindful of his injuries, and then thoughtfully fixed his blanket.

“Now that that’s out of the way, drink some water and eat some of these.” A small, opened packet of salty crackers was handed to him and he made a face, but a pointed look from kind pearl gray eyes evaporated any desire to protest. After he finished eating, a couple of pills were dropped on his sweaty palm; he quickly swallowed them and rejoiced in their instant effect. It’ll be nice if emotional pain killers were a thing; he certainly could use at least a hundred bottles.

“These will keep the pain at bay for a few hours and help you sleep. Now rest, your body and mind need it.”

“But my wife---”

“She will be here, next to you when you wake up, don’t worry,” Misha didn’t know why, but her motherly tone of voice effortlessly earned his trust.

“Thank you, Betty, for everything.”

“My pleasure, honey, sweet dreams,” was the last thing he heard before sleep submitted him against his will.

***

Misha woke up unexpectedly, forehead and neck coated with sweat and Jensen’s name branded on his lips. In a medley of nebulous dreams, ethereal green and golden speckled eyes and constellations of freckles stood out. It wasn’t until he wrenched his dopey eyes from the off white ceiling and they scanned the room, that he became aware of the person sitting on the chair next to him.

“Vicki!” The effort to get closer to her punched the air out of his lungs. His injuries may not be life threatening, but that didn’t mean his body wasn’t fucked up. “Vicki, I-I’m so sorry…” His apologies were disrupted by a slender index finger over his lips.

“Shh, calm down M.” Her left palm spread warmth over his gelid one, at the same time her right hand pushed back strands of hair from his sweat matted forehead.

“No, no I-shit.” A mural of guilt and embarrassment, frustration and exasperation plastered the walls and ceilings of his heart.

“What happened?” Vicki shouldn’t coddle him. She should yell at him and tell him how his mindless behavior had almost cost him his life.

“I was stupid. Got distracted and forgot about that fucking hill. Went down at 55mph…sorry.” What else could he say? He was already in this pitiful situation; nothing to do but to power though it. And never again allow his mind to wonder while doing something potentially life threatening.

“The important thing is that you’re alive, that you will get better. _This pain won’t last forever.”_ He couldn’t hold her gaze, the weight of his shame a colossus on his shoulders. Misha wanted to believe her words; rub a magic lamp and ask the genie to make them come true. But he refused to think about _him_ right now. Misha couldn’t manipulate his heart, but his thoughts he could distract.

“Where is West?”

“I dropped him off at Philip’s and Lisa’s. I changed his diaper, dressed him, strapped him in his seat, and set him down on the playpen and not once did he wake up.” The fondness in her voice and the sparkles in her eyes as she spoke about their son diluted the tension gripping his muscles.

“Hmm…”

“Your nurse, Betty, told me that after the doctor speaks to us, you will be moved to a regular room.” Thank God, because this gurney was far from comfortable; it was some sort of torture apparatus, though hospital beds probably weren’t any better. But maybe that was because he didn’t like hospitals.

“Betty, she-” A soft knock on the door sealed his mouth and drove their gazes towards it.

“Hello there, my name is Dr. Angie Patiño,” a young and gaunt woman announced in a silvery voice as she made her way towards them. The small smile that curved her full lips contrasted with the weary look in her eyes.

“Hi,” he rasped, once again feeling frazzled.

“Hello, I’m Vicki, his wife.”

“Nice to meet you both, especially when the news I have to give isn’t bad considering how it could have gone.” The hand blanketing his tightened and he dare a glance; his wife’s face was etched with unmasked relief and the tense set of her shoulders had automatically relaxed. A similar feeling cascaded over him at those words.

“I am glad you are finally speaking coherently and had some rest. Betty has kept me informed about everything. And despite losing consciousness, the minor cuts and scrapes, nausea and some torn muscles, things look good.” She must have noticed how incredulity painted his face because she quickly continued. “Well, your accident was disastrous; you fell down a hill at 55 mph, so you wouldn’t come out of it unscathed. After inspecting the area, taking X-rays and doing a CT scan, we pinpointed the location of the breaks and it helped us determine the extent of the injury. You fractured your left tibia and fibula, but it was an incomplete fracture in both bones, which is nothing short of miraculous if you believe in such things.” It was reassuring to hear all of that, but a twinge of worry still poked at his gut.

“So when can I leave?” As soon as the question left his mouth, a commiserating expression contoured the doctor’s heart shaped face, and his shoulders deflated.

“Your leg will need to stay in a splint for one more day to allow for the swelling to subside. Afterwards, it will be casted and you’ll need to keep weight off it for six to eight weeks.” At that, a low groan crept out of his throat and elicited a giggle from Vicki and an amused smile from Dr. Patiño. Fuck my luck! _But at least you’re alive,_ a voice that sounded much like his mom’s retorted _._ Crap, he has to call her and tell her before someone else does, his dad and Sasha too _._

“So as I was saying, you can’t put weight on your injured leg. We will provide you a pair of crutches to aid you with that or a cane, whichever you prefer. Surgery won’t be necessary as the injuries weren’t that severe, but you’ll likely need physical therapy to help restore movement and reduce stiffness. But we’ll talk about that and pain medications in more detail once the leg has been casted. Any questions?” the doctor asked as her eyes flicked up from the chart she had been busy filling.

A glance from knowing brown eyes and he felt infinitely grateful Vicki was with him, because he had zoned out half way. Frankly, he didn’t have the wits to have any kind of conversation—his senses dulled by fatigue, pain meds and a continuous heartache.

“No, you have answered them already, thank you.” After exchanging smiles, Dr. Patiño took her leave. A long, loud sigh filled the small room as his body melted against the stretcher.

“Shit!”

***

Shortly after the doctor left, Misha was moved to a regular hospital room. It was considerably more spacious than the cramped and drab ER room; same boring white walls and horrible fluorescent lights, but at least it had a large pane window. Though the view couldn’t be fully appreciated at this late hour; the glimpse he got told him rooftops weren’t his kind of thing. The sky remained as he had seen it earlier—a rayless pitch-black curtain splashed with light gray patches. He was gingerly transferred to the bed by a young male nurse (who was stronger than he looked) and a curly haired, female nurse who was about Betty’s age.

Speaking of Betty; she had come to say her goodbyes before he was wheeled away from the tiny room. Of course, she had to stay in the ER because that’s where she was permanently stationed. Misha thought it was wondrous how a person’s soul could click with certain ones so effortlessly. Her kindness had touched him profoundly, thus he made sure to ask Vicki to get her contact information. Misha knew kindness was priceless and that he could never repay it, but even so, he wanted to express his gratitude and appreciation.

Apart from the blessing of a comfortable bed, his neck was also free from that suffocating collar. He now also sported a white with blue snowflakes print patient gown. Misha had insisted that Vicki went home, but she refused stating that West was in excellent hands and that she had come ready to stay the night. (“I won’t leave you alone M, not only because I know how much you dislike hospitals, but because I’ll be worried sick at home,” she had told him). So Jose, the same nurse who almost single handedly had carried him to the bed had shown her how the sofa bed worked; he had also brought her a couple of blankets and a pillow. _Perhaps hospitals weren’t that bad after all,_ he mused as he dozed off.

Those painkillers were fantastic and he shouldn’t like how numb his entire being felt. The hours he had slept thanks to them, were the only time in these almost two and a half months that he wasn’t aware of the ever-present painful writhing inside his heart. He knew it was a temporary tourniquet, but he didn’t have the luxury to be picky.

“Good night Dmitri,” Vicki whispered in his ear, her breathe lukewarm on his skin. Tender hands touched his hair and smooth finger pads roved over his cheeks, only he was too far gone to return them. Tomorrow he will.

***

 ** _  
_** When his eyelids flew wide open, it was already morning. Misha was sure of it if only because the clock on the right bedside table marked 7:33 AM. And also, because Vicki had folded back the sofa bed and now sat with her legs curled up, a book in one hand, and a cup of what smelled like oolong tea in the other. Her hair was braided to the side and she had changed into a pair of black jeans and a light gray V-neck sweater. He was once again glad she hadn’t left, because today he felt like the sky looked— gloomy.

His vivid dreams had left him feeling restless and his mind a sea-misted turmoil. And it was all Jensen’s fault— his husky voice hadn’t stop calling for him; his gemlike eyes dissected his dream self with a pleading gaze; his melancholic words rocketed towards him and stabbed his chest. A litany of ‘I’m sorrys and forgive mes, let’s talk and hear me outs’ bursted apart the fragile thread that stitched his wounded heart together. His chanted name was the final blow. It was all too much and he needed fresh air, needed to go running to clear his head, but couldn’t because he was stuck in a hospital bed precisely because he had let his thoughts ambush him.

“Good morning,” his wife greeted, vestiges of sleep still edged her voice.

“Hi…how did you sleep? Your back must hurt, that sofa doesn’t look too comfortable.” A grimace overtook his face when he wet his lips and swallowed; his mouth tasted like vomit and shit.

Vicki’s lips quirked as she took a few steps towards him, cup of tea in hand, “It isn’t our bed, but it wasn’t that bad; my back is fine. Are you hungry?”

Misha instinctively leaned into the touch when her warm hand patted his right cheek. The cuts and scrapes still stung and every minor movement pulled at the sensitive skin. His fractured bones had slowly begun their torture session; the dull pain that had tugged him out of his fretful dreams was increasingly skyrocketing. He’ll endure as much of it as he can, because he didn’t want to grow dependent on the meds.

“Yes, I am,” and to corroborate his words his stomach growled on cue. And despite himself, a low rumble of laughter bubbled from his chest, yet when a sudden shooting pain bisected it, it turned into a groan and his eyes shut close.

Right away, comforting hands smoothed up and down his arms. “I’ll order some breakfast and after you eat, you can get something for the pain.” He nodded and remained still until the pain abated a little.

A while later, after he had relieved himself and brushed his teeth, he ate, but refused to drink the pain meds offered to him. Instead, he decided to read the book Vicki had brought with her. He could barely concentrate, with what the physical pain and exhaustion proving to be nearly as ruthless as his jilted heart. At least Vicki wasn’t there to see him sink; he had convinced her to go home for a few hours, be with their son and rest. And he was glad she did, because even though the last thing he wanted was to be left alone with his venomous thoughts, he needed to sort them out. A murderous side-glance at his cell phone and his hand snatched it brusquely as if it had committed a heinous crime.

Without a second thought and ears intentionally deaf to the supplications of a muffled voice that said _‘stop, don’t do it, and listen’_ , he erased all those fucking voicemails. He should have done it as soon as he got them and maybe he should change his cell number too. When he gets home, he will throw away all of those toys he brought for them- _for him_. The file on his computer with _that man’s_ pictures should be erased as well, and the clothes he had been gifted by him should be donated or burned. Yes, that’s what he’ll do. It should be easy; after all he had erased those voicemails without a grain of hesitation.

Misha didn’t remember when he had fallen into sleep’s almighty grasp nor when he had set the book on the table or when Danneel had gotten here. Hold on a second, Danneel was here? He did a double take when his heavy eyelids set upon the soft smiling person sitting on the sofa. His furrow brow and slightly parted lips stretched her smile further, and then she was on her way towards him. Her blonde soft curls highlighted her fair skin and full cheekbones; she wore dark skinny jeans with dark gray calf high boots, a gray t-shirt and a long sleeved white blazer. What was she doing here? It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see her but, oh no, then this means Jensen must know…

“Hi sweetheart, how’re you feeling? I almost had a mini heart attack when I got the call from Vicki. She called me on her way home.” Ah, of course she did; it wasn’t like they could keep it a secret, not when he had to let the Nashville con organizers know that he won’t be attending. He’ll probably get calls from Matt, Seb, the Mark’s, Rob, Jared, Rich and who knows who else. It was exhausting even to think about it; he’ll have to come up with a good story to explain his accident. Not like he could say ‘Oh, yeah, I almost died, because I was too busy thinking about my ex, you know, our colleague Jensen; who dumped me like a piece of shit two and a half months ago.’

“Hey lovely, I’m-”A sharp throbbing in his leg curled his toes and fisted his hands, clenched his jaw and watered his eyes; it turned his thoughts into spider webs and quaked his body as a deep cry sprinted out his mouth before he could caged it.

“Misha, oh God, I’ll get the nurse.” Before she could walk away, his fingers circled around her left wrist and their eyes locked.

“No, don’t,” he wheezed whilst he flicked his parched tongue over his lips.

“But Misha-”

“I’m fine now.” Misha didn’t want to bother the nurses in vain, because he had decided to forgo pain meds. He was afraid of growing dependent on them, not only to help him numb the physical pain but to wane the emotional incessant lashing.

“You don’t look fine,” she insisted, one of her hands cupping his two day old scruffy cheek while the other held his right hand.  

“Don’t worry, I’m an Angel of the Lord, remember?” The words were meant to be comforting; a joke to dissipate the tension, but his body reminded him that he was a frail mortal when a sharp flash of pain deformed his face.

“Well, you _are_ a real life angel, but you aren’t an indestructible supernatural creature,” she said jokingly, but his ears could easily descry the strain edges in her tone.

A question gnawed at his brain, so he swallowed the thorns lodged in his vocal cords and asked, “Did you, uh, tell him?”

“No, not yet, but I will. I don’t hide anything from him and I don’t want him to hear it from someone else and freak out.”

A halberd-like laugh split his chest asymmetrically from the inside and his eyes instantly flee to land on the TV mounted on the wall. “Why would he? We mean nothing to each other.”

“Really Misha? Are you sure?” She questioned as her gaze fell on him like a billow of wet sand.

“Yes! That’s what I want. I don’t want him to mean anything to me anymore.” An unusual sourness flavored his taste buds and bathed his being. But Betty’s last words wrestled his newborn resolution fiercely.

_‘Whoever this Jensen is, he must mean a lot to you. You lost consciousness a few times and each time you regained it, you called his name over and over again. I don’t know what happened between you two, but it’s clear that it must have hurt you. If he still means so much to you that you would call him in your worse moment, then try to fix things. Those baby blues are too pretty to look so sad.’_

“Are those your true feelings? Because despite the way he did things, his feelings for you are intact. And you should know, because he has called you and left voicemail after voicemail. He wants to-”

“ ** _Stop_** , please stop Dee. I-I don’t want to talk about him. I just want to forget everything that has happened. I _need_ to forget.” If he didn’t push himself to forget, he feared for his sanity.

Danneel’s hands held his clenched fist between them, before she murmured, “I’m sorry for being so insensitive and bringing this up at a time like this, but it breaks my heart to see both of you look so miserable. And I don’t want to meddle in your life and tell you what to do, but you won’t be able to move on— if that’s what you truly want—until you guys sit down and talk. At least reconsider it Misha, you owe it to yourself and even though you think he doesn’t deserve it, do it for him too.”

Misha couldn’t reply even if he wanted to, because the fiery knot of tears twisted around his neck disintegrated the unspoken words. He _wanted_ to stop missing him. He _needed_ to stop missing him.


	7. ~Stranger~

_**But you didn't have to cut me off**_  
 _ **Make out like it never happened and that we were nothing**_  
 _ **And I don't even need your love**_  
 _ **But you treat me like a stranger and that feels so rough**_  
 _ **No you didn't have to stoop so low**_  
 _ **Have your friends collect your records and then change your number**_  
 _ **I guess that I don't need that though**_  
 _ **Now you're just somebody that I used to know**_  
  
_**Now you're just somebody that I used to know**_  
 _ **Now you're just somebody that I used to know**_

**~“Someone That I Used To Know,” Gotye**

 

Jensen was wrapping up a scene when his cell vibrated. As soon as he was done, he reached for his back jean pocket and pulled out his phone. A text from his wife illuminated the small screen at the same time his lips sprouted an affectionate smile. He was due at the make-up trailer to get ready for the next scene, but he could steal a few minutes to talk to his girl. Jared walked beside him, eyes glued to his cell. It was a nice and cool afternoon; clear blues skies dotted with a few puffy clouds, the passing breeze crisp and clean. His eyes skimmed over the words which layered thickly inside his head.

_‘Hey babe, call me when you can talk without interruptions. I’m fine, don’t worry.’_

The cryptic text caused curiosity to flourish and his hand moved on its own.

“Hi handsome, that was fast. I thought I had to wait until tonight.” Her tone was as cheery as usual, but there was a certain tense edge to it, which triggered all kinds of alarms in his head.

So he inhaled a lungful of air and wet his lips, and then asked, “Dee, what it is? You sure you’re okay?” He kept his voice as quiet as possible, because there were people scattered all around. Jared gave him a quizzical look, brow pinched with questions, but he waved him off. The short pause held an undercurrent of tar-like tension that nearly asphyxiated him. In that moment, he was glad he had decided against wearing his coat, because the frosty wind kept him centered—unable to give into the anxiety crooking its bony fingers at him.

The muffled sound of flowing water in the background served as a kind of white noise that placated his nerves. A heavy sigh and clattering of dishes filled his ears before she uttered, “You are panicking baby.”

A forceful swallow crammed down his throat, while his hand carded impatiently through his hair. Meanwhile, a gazillion of disquieting thoughts spun in his mind. “Shouldn’t I? You sound off Danni, tell me already, all these pauses are making me nervous.”

“Sorry, sorry Jay, um okay, this morning I got a call from Vicki.” At that his heartbeat peaked, because this didn’t sound like their regular ‘weekly update on The Collins family’ kind of thing. This sounded serious.

“She told me that last night Misha had…” _Oh, my God_ , _something bad happened_ , resonated in his head and his body halted abruptly.

“That Misha had a bike accident, but he-,” _Oh my God, oh Christ, no, no, no._ Suddenly, everything froze and faded away. His bones dissolved and his knees buckled. Without bones, his legs lost control and took him down, but before he could hit the pavement, a pair of sturdy arms cinched around his waist and stayed him.

“Jay, dude, what-” His friend’s frantic voice startled him out of a panic spiral, yet his mind reeled with guilt and fear, pain and tears and self-hate.

The tight grip on his phone didn’t falter, it became his temporary anchor.

“Baby calm down, please breathe and listen to me.” How can she ask that of him?!

“Misha, Misha is dead…he’s dead, oh God it’s my fault. Dee it’s--- Jared, Jared Misha is---”

“What?!” Jared screamed so close to his ear it caused his eardrum to ring loudly; disorienting him even more.

Jensen heard murmurs and felt the weight of prying stares, but he didn’t give a single fuck, because Misha, _his Mish_ was... _please no, please._

His legs were moving, except he couldn’t feel them. He couldn’t feel anything but thorny guilt and a love so sharp it perforated his heart.

“Jensen, listen to me. Misha is **alive** and well. I went to see him today and we talked and he even joked around a bit.”

Thank God they had made it to his trailer and Jared had closed the door, because as soon as he heard those words his body slumped to the floor with a thud. Jared’s broad hand took a hold of the hand clutching the phone and they exchanged a look before he tapped the speaker button.

“A-are you sure he’s fine? You aren’t hiding anything from me, right?” It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her—no—but she would tell a white lie if it was to make him feel better.

“Yes, I’m sure. He suffered some minor cuts and scrapes and fractured his left shinbone and fibula. His leg is in a splint until the swelling goes down, and then it’ll be in a cast for six to eight weeks. Vicki told me the doctor said no surgeries were necessary and that with some therapy his leg should be back to normal. She also told me, that he groaned like a petulant child when the doctor told him he had to stay at the hospital for a couple of days,” Dee’s amused tone as she spoke the last sentence, quirked his own lips.

“Yeah, he hates hospitals…” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. Jensen could clearly hear Misha’s irritated groan inside his head; see his grumpy face vividly behind his shut eyelids— it felt so real that a poignant feeling overtook him and watered his eyes.

His slightly tremulous right hand lifted languidly to his face and shielded his stinging eyes. “It’s my fault Dee…I-I made Jared call him and put me on the phone. If it wasn’t for-”

“Jay, don’t say that, it was an accident.” His wife’s tone was now woven with steel.

A firm squeeze on his left shoulder alerted him of his best friend’s opinion before he voiced his thoughts. “Danni is right, and you didn’t make me do anything. I did it because I wanted to help.”

They could try to drill those words into his mind, but he still felt responsible. _Mish, please forgive me._

“I need to see him.” If he left tonight as soon as recording ended, he could go to the hospital early in the morning and come back before they started recording again. Tomorrow was a late start, it worked out perfectly.

The tense pause before his wife spoke, stirred the swarm of anxiety that had been swelling inside of him. He knew that whatever she was going to say wasn’t something he wanted to hear, so he braced himself.

“He might not want to see you, even if you go there, he’s still pretty hurt.” She knew much more, but he wasn’t brave enough to probe for details.

“I have to try Dee-Dee. I want him to see how serious I am about wanting to fix things.” Breaking up was the stupidest thing he had ever done, followed by the way he chose to end it.

“Okay, if that’s what you have decided... see you soon baby.”

“See you, beautiful.”    

“Shit, I need to book a flight…” With his scattered thoughts, he didn’t even know how he was going to get into character and say his lines. His eyes locked on the wall in front of him, not really seeing anything. Right now, his entire being could be subsumed under the term ‘Misha’.

“Leave it to me. Here, drink this,” his friend said with a reassuring smile, as he put in his hand an opened bottle of cool water.

“Thanks.”

***

Jared had driven him to the airport as soon as they finished recording. He didn’t bother to go to his apartment to pack, because he didn’t have time to waste and he also had plenty of clothes at home. His body was a frazzled mayhem, demanding rest, but his brain refused to shut down even for a second. Not that he had been sleeping well since a few days before _that_ fucking day, a little over two and half months ago. Though he couldn’t sleep, he let his eyelids drift closed and distracted himself with the music flowing out of his earphones. The plane was half full and quiet, which he was grateful for; the darkness, oddly enough smoothed the stiff lines that contoured his body. In between the lyrics of one of his favorite songs by Leonard Cohen, a prayer sung high.

_**‘Please let Misha have compassion on me and allow me to see him; to talk to him and ask for forgiveness; to be forgiven and go back to what we had.’** _

_Now I've heard there was a secret chord_   
_That David played, and it pleased the Lord_   
_But you don't really care for music, do you?_   
_It goes like this_   
_The fourth, the fifth_   
_The minor fall, the major lift_   
_The baffled king composing Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah_   
_Hallelujah_   
_Hallelujah_   
_Hallelujah_

**_‘Please, please, please.’_ **

Jensen was glad he didn’t have to stay around and wait for luggage, and as soon as he got out of the plane went directly to the cab stand. Jared had taken care of making a reservation against his wishes. He had wanted to rent a car, but his best friend gave him a Sam-style bitchface and went on to ignore his griping. Of course now, he was relieved he didn’t have to pay attention to the road and flopped heavily onto the taupe colored leather seat. Thank goodness the taxi driver; a middle-aged, dark-skinned man with big, dark eyes wasn’t the chatty type. They exchanged hellos and traveled in companionable silence, except for the soft classical music that streamed from the speakers. His heavy-lidded eyes won the battle and let the melodious sound of stringed instruments lull him into slumber.

In his dreams, Misha smiled at him with his favorite ‘Misha smile’; those crinkles were one of his weaknesses, as were those luminous azure eyes that effortlessly siphoned every drop of his control. A long-fingered hand moved towards his face at a snail’s pace; he wanted to move but couldn’t, because he was tied up spread-eagle on a bed. The feel of the red, cotton braided rope against the sensitive skin of his wrists and ankles, as well as the leather cock ring caging his erect member and balls, elicited a low moan from his throat. Not even the vibrating nipple clamps that trapped his erect nubs could satisfy the voracious desire to feel the touch of those polished fingertips on his flesh. At the almost there caress, a shudder waved through him and curled his toes and fingers; it brought forth goosebumps and ripped a name out of his tongue.

_‘Mish!’_

A sleek, dark chuckle licked at his ears and his throat released a whine.

_‘So eager, how magnificent. Shh, I’ll take care of you, Jen. I know what you need.’_

_‘Please, please…’_

But before he could feel that touch, it evanesced mid-air.

_‘No, no, no, dammit!’_

“Sir, excuse me, sir, wake up. Mr. Ackles, we are here.” The insistent and slightly annoyed call of the taxi driver jolted him out of his dream. Crap, he hoped he didn’t make any weird sounds. Thank God it was dark all around, except for the dim streetlamps, because a raging hard-on strained against his jeans. His cheeks burned with mortification and want. He prayed his voice didn’t reflect the thrumming of his heart.

“Sorry man and thank you,” he rasped, while he straightened and pulled a $50 dollar bill out of his wallet.

Jensen didn’t let go of the breath he was holding hostage until he got out and closed the door. He drew in a long inhale; head tilted back and eyes sealed shut as his hands pulled down the hem of his navy blue sweater. The touch of the cool breeze against his skin, restrained if only a bit the inferno coursing through his veins. When he was more or less in control, he walked inside his house and up the stairs. He didn’t need the lights to know where he was going. Slowly, he turned the doorknob to their bedroom door, careful not make noise. Once inside, his eyes settle on a sleeping Danneel and his lips curved into a half a smile. Quiet steps took him to his dresser and he pulled out a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and then walked to the bathroom. Swift hands divested him of his clothes and after he redressed; he relieved himself, washed his hands and face, brushed his teeth and crawled into the warmth of their bed.

Jensen pressed up against her back and wrapped an arm around her slender waist; he planted a kiss on her nape and buried his nose in her hair. She stirred, but he shushed her.

“Good night Dee-Dee.”

***

Hours later, they had breakfast together and talked about everything but the elephant in the room. Jensen didn’t have the strength to think of what-ifs; lest he plummets to the floor and let spear-like sobs slash his throat and his hands tear off clumps of hair. His feet bounced under the table and his stomach felt queasy; he leaned on his elbows, forehead pressed against his tightly enlaced hands— _how am I supposed to do what I want, when my body has declared civil war on me?_ _What if---_

A soft but firm hand curled around his right shoulder, while the other threaded through his hair gently. The gesture tamped down his brooding, if only marginally, and his shoulders deflated.

“I can go with you if you want. You don’t have to do this alone. I can reschedule-”

A quick shake of his head and another deep breath and then he was on his feet. Danneel’s hand remained on his shoulder as he turned to face her; he needed all the courage he could gather.

“No, Dee, I _need_ to do this alone. I’ll see you in a few days. Take care, love you.” His hands rose to cup her cheeks and their lips met in a kiss; it was loving and sweet—and he wished that someday Misha would kiss him again like that too.

“I hope everything works out in your favor. Love you, baby.”

_I hope so too._

***

The taxi ride to the hospital had been a combination of excitement at the possibility of seeing Misha, but also gut-wrenching torture at being rejected. His mind was a den of abrasive thoughts that preyed on his worst fears, but he pushed his feet to move. When he passed the front desk he received a few knowing looks from a couple of nurses and belatedly remembered he didn’t wear a cap or anything to disguise himself, but they were too busy doing their job to ask for an autograph or pictures. On his way to the elevator, he pulled out his cell from his black leather jacket and sent a quick text.

_‘Vicki, it’s Jensen, I’m here at the hospital. I’ll be in the waiting room. Please let’s talk.’_

Jensen prayed and hoped and wished that she would see how regretful he was for causing so much pain to her, and especially to Misha. As he waited, he paced the small empty room; arms folded over his chest and expectant eyes darting to the entrance every few seconds. If he felt like he was going crazy on his way here, now he was certain it had happened, because he felt his bones had burst out of his skin. _Calm down buddy. Breathe. C’mon breathe. Fuck!_

The sound of someone clearing their throat yanked him out of his daze, and when he spun around his heart did an unexpected cartwheel. If he could, he would have let the deluge of relief plop him down in the nearest chair. Though he couldn’t lift his cinderblock-like feet, he managed to utter a halted greeting.

“Hi Vicki,” God, he thought she wouldn’t come; the last time he had seen her she was furious and with reason.

“Jensen, what are you doing here?” She questioned him in a toneless voice, her brows pinched and arms crossed tightly over her chest, as she took a few steps into the room. The dark circles under her eyes and weary appearance, her messy side braid and tensed shoulders, agitated a violent commotion of dread inside of him.

Without realizing how, he was merely a few inches away from her; his trembling hands wrapped loosely around her upper arms. The shock in her visage was evident, but she didn’t pushed him away— on the contrary— her eyes suddenly gleamed with something that thaw the icy half of his heart. Hope.

“Is-is he okay? Dee, um she told me what happened and…is he really fine?”

The long sigh that drained her body of oxygen, crepitated in his ears. One of the things he had learned about himself with this accident was that he wasn’t patient waiting for news. Also, that he was prone to spiral into panic. His eyes registered every tiny change of expression from a blink to a lip movement—he will have only the truth.

“He is fine, well…” _Fuck_ , people should really stop doing these dramatic pauses when talking to him—especially under these circumstances. He fought the need to clench his hands and swallowed a groan. “He’s just in a lot of pain. He barely slept a wink last night, which means I didn’t either.”

Jensen’s head tilted to the side as his brow furrowed, immediately following with the obvious question, “Why is he in pain? Why aren’t they giving him painkillers?” The outrage he felt must have etched his face, because her arms unfolded and her hands went to squeeze his shoulders placatingly.

“They have tried, but he refuses them. He only took them the first day.”

“Why doesn’t he want them?” A broken leg isn’t a walk in the park, it must hurt like hell.

“Because sometimes he’s insufferably stubborn.” It was said with mild irritation, but the core was all affection.

Now was his turn to let a sigh dash out of him. Misha was ‘fine’ but in excruciating pain and there was nothing he could do to make it better, because, _what can I do when I was the one that all caused this?_

“It’s my fault, all of it. He must have told you, that Jared per my request put me on the phone and he hung up as soon as he heard my voice. If I hadn’t done that-” His self-condemnation was cut halfway by firm squeezes on his shoulders, accompanied by a pointed look.

“It was an accident Jensen; he doesn’t blame you. Yes, he was a bit out of it when he went out last night, but he has been like that since…” Her voice faded away at what was already a well-known fact, yet her gaze remained on his—unfaltering.      

“What are you doing here?”

His eyes suddenly became hummingbirds trying to flit about, but he didn’t give in. He was here to talk and beg, to be honest and lay down his true feelings for Misha to see. “Danneel told me what had happened yesterday afternoon, so I came as soon as I could. I _need_ to talk to him Vicki. I’m sorry that I made you break his heart. I shouldn’t have dumped that on you. Not a day goes by that I don’t regret all of it. Do you think that he, uh, would want to see me?”

Brown eyes widened a smidgen, but immediately were dimmed by the weight of reality.

“Jensen, I was so mad at you that I literally wanted to slap some sense into you. What you made me do hurt me, but not to the same degree it hurt him. You used a bunch of nonsensical excuses to end your relationship and let other people’s prejudices talk for you. I know your feelings for him are genuine and strong, but you can’t decide things on your own. Is your fear gone? If and I’m emphasizing ‘if’, things work out, are you sure you won’t freak out and hurt him again?” Vicki’s voice and gaze and body language did a 180; no longer was her tone gentle or her gaze soft or her hands on his shoulders—she meant business and no bullshit was allowed.

So he let his hands fall to his sides and his back straightened; not even for a second did he let his eyes waver or his voice show doubt. He had thought of his answer to such a question almost since he left her house all those weeks ago. Jensen wished he had thought about how he would live with the weight of having lost Misha, because of his foolishness. If he had told Misha about his fears; he would have understood and they would have come to a compromise. But no use regretting what-ifs, the past won’t return and he needed to prove himself.

“I wish you had slapped me.” At the admission, her lips quirked into a tiny smile, but he continued. “Again, I’m sorry for what I did to you and for all the ignorant shit I said. It was my insecurities talking. I was just so overwhelmed, though that doesn’t excuse how I chose to do things. My fear is still there, it’ll take time for me to get a hold of it. But know that I learned my lesson thoroughly; these last several weeks have been the worse of my life. I-I would rather hurt myself than hurt him ever again. And I know these might sound like prettily embroidered words to you, but I mean them. I _need_ him to give me a chance, Vicki.”

He still had so much to say, but those words weren’t for anyone but Misha’s ears. They scalded him whole, so profoundly it lighted his soul ablaze and only one person had the power to contain it—he hoped he didn’t have to keep on living on fire.

After what felt like a century long pause, her face became a candescent sight, though he didn’t miss the vestiges of apprehension that speckled her eyes. “You aren’t a bad person Ackles, just a little uptight.” She said it teasingly, but immediately her countenance became a wintry landscape and his breathing ceased.

“I forgive you. And I will remember each word you just told me; know that I will make you keep them.” Steel and ice and gravel knitted her words.

Jensen nodded as his teeth chewed on the side of his cheek somewhat harshly. His hands and his heart were victims of a mild tremor; he only wished ardently that Misha would want to see him.

Vicki’s short sigh and her perfectly aligned teeth chewing her bottom lip, made his nerves stand on attention. “Misha…he’s still as furious and hurt as the first time I told him about your decision.”

 _Fuck, yeah, of course, he suspected as much. Damn it all to hell!_ At his nod, she padded out of the room and he was left with a guillotine of unpleasant piercing thoughts dangling over his head, waiting to sever the flimsy string of hope holding him together.

***

Misha’s eyelids were nearly closed when Vicki came back into the room. The harrowing pain had ebbed a bit after begrudgingly taking a couple of Ibuprofens; at least they didn’t make him feel like a zombie, though the medication wasn’t as effective. When he turned his head and his eyes landed upon his wife’s face, he knew something was up. She still looked fatigued, which made him feel like a humongous pile of dung, but there was an extra shine to her eyes that wasn’t there before. A handful of minutes ago, Vicki had glanced at her cell and had shot up from the sofa bed so fast that her book fell with a loud thud on the floor. She had looked at him like a deer caught in the headlights and before he could open his mouth, she was out the door.

“What happened? Is everything okay? West?” The series of questions sprang out of his mouth faster than he could think them. It was kind of depressing how now his thoughts were webbed with negativity. Heartbreak was a terrifying thing, but love was even more so. It created a void.

She didn’t speak as she walked towards him; her eyes locked with his curious ones.

“What is it Vicki?”

Once she was next to the bed, she licked her lips and combed his hair back with her fingers.

“Jensen is here and he wants to see you.”

Those words paralyzed him from the inside out and sucker-punched his heart. _Jensen is here and wants to see me_. There were a myriad of questions he wanted to ask, but he felt as if he were a terracotta statue used for target practice. Misha was so weak for that man; he wanted nothing more than to see him and kiss those pastry-like lips; he wanted and wished and needed, but he was afraid of being hurt again. Fury still claimed him; it shackled his feelings and shredded his emotions and he did nothing to fight it.

He shook his head whilst his gaze lowered to his linked hands on his lap. The other reason why he refused to take painkillers, apart from not wanting to grow dependent on them, was that he needed the physical pain to distract him from the emotional inquisition taking place in his heart. Jensen had burrowed his way inside his heart so deeply that his absence physically put his body in unbearable pain. The thought of their time together, his fingertips on Jensen’s skin and the heat of J’s gaze— they were all weapons used to torture him like a prisoner of war.

“I don’t want to see him.”

Vicki’s hand trailed down the side of his face and settled on his shoulder, her thumb rubbed lightly at the bone. “Danni told him yesterday afternoon and as soon as he finished recording, he hopped on a plane and came to see you. M, he’s worried about you and wants to talk. There’s not a trace of doubt or lie in his words, in his eyes. I know you’re deeply hurt in every sense at this moment, but-” He couldn’t listen to her words right now; he didn’t want to imagine his face.

“He shouldn’t be so worried about me. We are nothing but coworkers to each other.” His own words scratched the slowly healing wound in his heart. And just when he thought it was getting better, the most insignificant thing would rip it open.

“Okay, I will tell him.” A last caress to his cheek and then leaden steps walked her out the door. He knew she had been hopeful that he would at least hear Jensen out, but he felt as raw as sunburned skin. Misha didn’t have the strength to see him, hear him, smell him—and not be able to touch him, taste him, and feel him.

Misha wanted to ask her how he looked; if he was in good health and if the golden in his eyes was dimmed by exhaustion; what was he wearing and what else he had said. How did Jensen’s voice sounded when he spoke his name and if he looked as miserable as Misha felt? But his vocal cords and tongue denied him. Everything was off kilter in his world.

Darkness. Darkness. Darkness. Misha saw the cocoon of needles enclose him and pierced his flesh, before it ate him alive.

***

“I’m sorry Jensen, but he doesn’t want to see you.” The tone of her words matched the sincere expression colored on her face. His wounded eyes briskly eluded empathetic ones; he didn’t need to feel more exposed. He should have expected this reaction after the shit he pulled. Apologies don’t erase pain. What he did was low and he deserves to live with this torturous regret and unquenchable guilt and incessant love forever.

Shoulders hunched and nails dug in his sweaty palms; he held back the tears he felt welling up in his eyes before he spoke. “You should be telling me ‘I told you so’. Vicky, you were right; I was a moron driven by fear and now- now it’s too late to repent.”

“It doesn’t give me any pleasure to see you like this or to see him in agony. Both of you are suffering because you decided to let fear lord over your heart. On his part, he can’t shake his anger. If you use both logic _and_ emotion to solve this situation, I’m sure things should fall into place.” Jensen wanted to believe those words, that there was still hope for them. He wanted the ice that had entrapped his heart to meet the heat of forgiveness and melt.

Vicki’s warm hands cradled his face and tilted up; her eyes brimmed with so much understanding it charioted some of his gloom away. But what really renewed his faith in the possibility of improving this situation were her next words.

“Chin up Ackles, this is by no means a ‘give up’ forever speech; it is ‘let him heal and then try again’ advice. In the meantime, work on conquering your fear and accepting who you are.”

He leaned into the touch of her hands; hands that have touched Misha’s skin and felt his warmth—and for a moment he imagined they were his fingers imprinting his flesh.


	8. ~Feel My Heart~

_**'Cause every time we touch, I get this feeling.** _   
_**And every time we kiss, I swear I could fly.** _   
_**Can't you feel my heart beat fast, I want this to last.** _   
_**Need you by my side.** _   
_**'Cause every time we touch, I feel the static.** _   
_**And every time we kiss, I reach for the sky.** _   
_**Can't you feel my heart beat so...** _   
_**I can't let you go.** _   
_**Want you in my life.** _

**~“Everytime We Touch,” Cascada**

The weeks crawled by and finally the freaking cast came off (after six weeks of restricted movement), and then therapy started. It wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. It was far worse. At first, his muscles were stiff and weakened in the injured areas, because he hadn’t moved his left leg in a while. But as the days went by, his leg regained strength and he could put weight on it without feeling like he would fall face first. The crutches were also finally gone and he couldn’t wait to start running again. His body had felt off since the accident because running was such an intrinsic part of him. Misha’s hands also itched to build something, anything; the feel of a piece of wood in his hands always calmed him down. But he had to take it easy if he didn’t want any setbacks in his recuperation.

The only good thing about his accident was that he got to spend more time with his family (though maybe Vicki would disagree, because he can be an annoying pain in the ass). West had decided he had had enough of Misha repeating ‘papa and mama’ at every turn. So one day while they ate dinner he had said, “Papa, say ah,” as he practically thrusted a kale leaf into Misha’s mouth. One thing he felt guilty about was not being able to attend BurCon. Misha felt he had somehow let the fans down. Thus he vowed to make it up to them next month at JibCon12.

March 1st had been a rough day for him. He woke up in a foul mood and his stomach in knots—everything he did went wrong, maybe because his thoughts were a rainforest of what-ifs. Vicki had tried a new recipe with kale (braised kale with bacon and cider) and asked him to help, which distracted him a little. Coloring with West and reading to him had been relaxing. But his wife had to run errands and West had to nap, and thus he was left with his not so healthy thoughts. He had been tempted to dial Jensen so many times that day that he lost count. And the worst part was that he couldn’t turn off his phone lest he miss an important call.

 _How was Jensen celebrating his birthday?_ It was a weekday, so the crew/cast probably got him a cake, sang to him and hugged him. He’ll certainly celebrate with Dee when he gets a few days off. Speaking of Dee, she had come by many times, but Jensen’s name was never mentioned. Well, at least not on purpose. And when it happened, she would give him this morose look that perforated his heart.

Of course, the plan he had constructed at the hospital to throw away their sex toys and change his cell number, erase Jensen’s pictures, and get rid of anything given to him by Jensen had been a catastrophic failure. It was easier said than done in the heat of emotional turmoil; his anger tugged at his hands to do it, but ultimately the feelings that dominated his heart won. He didn’t know the extent and depth of his love for Jensen, until those ambrosia flavored lips he had venerated with tongue and teeth countless times, plotted the murder of his heart.

***

Jensen’s birthday had come and gone and he was glad it was over. Four days later, he still felt the lingering tart flavor that day had left in his mouth. Only Jared knew his smiles and enthusiasm had been forced, both at the impromptu birthday celebration on set and at the on-stage birthday surprise at BurCon. His friend’s hand had been a comforting weight on his shoulder. He had talked to Vicki on the phone several times after his visit to Misha. She has kept him updated on his recuperation and he had also talked to West who had finally said ‘papa’ and more recently ‘mama’. Jensen was dying to teach him how to say ‘Uncle Jensen’, but bit his tongue every time the temptation hit him. Dee had also come to visit him and stayed for a few days, so that had been awesome.

But despite all the good things that surrounded him, Misha’s name echoed louder than ever inside the hollow space he used to fill. That side of his heart was the breeding ground of wretched nightmares in which he lived a lifetime without Misha—when these poison-laced thoughts sprouted, he instantly recalled Vicki’s words at the hospital. Jensen missed him to such an extreme that sometimes he would daydream about him. In those fantasies, Misha would call his name adoringly and caress his face tenderly, kiss him fervently, and take him hard. Jensen missed him so much it was frightening, but he didn’t want to ever stop missing him, because missing that man had become a part of him.

Jensen was on his way to the set; eyes glued to his phone as he watched a ridiculously funny cat video Dee had just sent him, when he was stopped dead on his tracks by the sound of a voice he hadn’t heard live for months. His phone nearly slipped out of his grasp at the shocked face in front of him; cerulean blues impossibly wide and sensual lips parted in a half formed word. There was someone else with him that he knew, but each one of his senses was honed in on the surprised man captivating his attention. He gulped down the gasp waiting to boom out of his mouth as his hand held his phone dangerously tight, and his breathing struggled to normalize a bit.

“Mish,” the name escaped from him in a susurration— so quiet, that he believed he had thought it.

But at the narrowed stare he received, he realized he had said it out loud. His heart tap danced heavily behind his ribs when he heard that liquid voice talk back to him.

“Don’t call me that,” fury forged each of those words and blasted against his chest. Misha’s sculptured cheekbones were refulgent with crimson ire; his sapphire gaze ready to smite—he shouldn’t find it so hot, but God help him, it was.

Goddammit, he thought Jensen and the others were filming off location; at least that’s what Sera had said last night when they spoke on the phone. _Fuck!_ He didn’t know how tightly his hands were clenched, until a sharp ache on his palms alerted his brain. _Calm down dammit. You stupid, pitiful heart._

“I-I’m sorry for-for everything Misha.”

 _Shit, shit, shit!_ _I can’t be here right now. I need to get away_. The sound of that tattered voice was kryptonite to Misha’s eroding resolve. He needed to hold onto his increasingly diluting anger to protect his dilapidated heart.

So he snatched a stray tendril of irritation hanging loose in his mind and spitted out, “Get out of my sight and go fuck yourself with your apologies.”

An epic war was being fought inside of him; he was fighting between punching that stupidly gorgeous face and kissing away that atrocious look in Jensen’s eyes. The latter was speeding towards victory, which only fueled his frustration.

“How’s your leg?” Jensen questioned voice slightly unsteady, as his eyes glanced down at Misha’s leg and then back at his face; peridot gaze imbued with unabashed concern.

“What do you care?” Misha was glad his tone remained harsh despite his conflicting feelings. _Stop showing me that face, stop looking at me like that—this is your fault._

“Sorry, um-”

“Sorry, for what exactly, Jensen?” The sneer intentionally woven into his words left his throat raw and bleeding. Averted malachite eyes and a clenched jaw, white knuckles, and sharp teeth over fleshy lips were the eloquent responses he received.

 _No, no mercy for this bastard_ , he said to himself, when all he wanted was to push Jensen against the nearest wall and kiss him for days. He knew he was being mulish, but he was afraid.

Misha looked like a wolf ready to strike at any moment, but that didn’t dissuade Jensen from erasing a step between them.

“Can we speak in private, please?” A side-glance at Darius and he thought the dude would get the message, but he should have known better.

Darius was one of Misha’s oldest and closest friends and a very nice guy. Yet he couldn’t avoid the dark monsters of jealousy and possessiveness awakening inside of him. Monsters that threatened to maul his innards trying to break themselves free from adamantine manacles.

“No, we can’t. We don’t have anything to talk about. You made sure of that when you acted like a coward. You are water under the bridge. My past. Leave me alone and let’s be what we should have always stayed as—coworkers.” No words he has ever uttered in his life have been as mendacious or gut-wrenching as these.

Another step erased coupled with a vigorous shake of his head preceded Jensen’s next words. “No, no, I-I know I messed up, that I was an idiot but I-”

Now his hands were trembling and not necessarily because of rage. This wasn’t good. He shouldn’t be so easily persuaded. These past four months have been hell for him. How could he forget the sleepless nights, copious tears, and the dismal condition of his heart and mind?! _How could I still be in love with the man who had torn down the very fabric of my soul?_

“You what, Jensen? You thought I’ll forgive and forget how you ended things through my wife?” His voice had significantly risen, more out of self-annoyance than anything else, and a few passersby stared at them. Yet their eyes remained magnetized to one another, unblinking.

“I think this isn’t the ideal place for this kind of talk guys.” Darius interjected, while his hand squeezed Misha’s shoulder lightly. Green eyes flickered for a split second to the spot.

“You’re right, this is enough.”

A couple of short steps brought him closer to a weary, but not less attractive looking man, and then he murmured, “Mish-a, please let’s talk. Let me explain myself to you. I can’t forget you. I don’t want to forget you.”

His words were a series of susurrations intended only for Misha’s ears. It pierced his chest and bled his heart when fathoms-deep blue eyes froze him in place. No flames lived there, because he had extinguished them; not even an ember survived, but he wasn’t about to give up.

“A little too late for that, don’t you think Jensen?”

“No more Jen or Jackles?” He didn’t care how shameless his behavior was as long as he kept Misha talking. Jensen had hungered for his handsome face and enthralling eyes, his honeyed lips and dark voice; he had thirsted for the way his hair curls behind his ears and the long column of his neck. He craved everything Misha.

A weak scoff fell from Misha’s lips, but Jensen’s imploring gaze continued to thaw the ice box that encased his heart from this asshole. “You have a lot of nerve to ask that. Who do you think you are? The last man on Earth?”

“For you I thought I was.”

The truth in those words slayed him, but at the same time incensed his insides; it cut loose the rope restraining the last of his lividness. Misha inched forward; his nose almost touching the flushed ear he used to color scarlet with titillating words, and growled darkly, “You’re a stuck-up prick. Your self-importance is beyond anything I’ve ever seen. You and only you are responsible for _our_ end and my agony. _You_ chose not to explain to me why you wanted out. _You_ decided on your own. Your words or rather lack of them, four months ago, mutilated my heart. So no, I can’t see you or hear you right now. I-I…, goodbye, Jensen.”

Panic rose inside of him and drained the blood from his face. “Misha, Mish don’t go, Misha!” His words were maple syrup stuck to his throat—it smothered him. And Misha’s retreating back was a sword that reaped every string of hope he held precious. He stood in place, rooted down by regret and despondency, and also wishing for a time machine or a new heart.

_No, no, no, this can’t be the end—it can’t be._

***

As Misha turned a corner, his back hit the wall and his head followed suit; immediately his eyelids sealed securely in an effort to contain his tears, whilst his nails clawed his jean clad thighs. After a few minutes, when he finally opened his eyes, he saw two of Darius in front of him and his body swayed like a cornflower in the wind. Sturdy hands steadied him and his eyes fluttered closed again as he sucked in a tottery breath.

“Misha, let’s go back to the hotel so you can rest. You look pale and didn’t sleep well last night.” Darius worried expression rubbed him the wrong way and not because of anything he had done, but because he couldn’t stand how one encounter with Jensen had effortlessly turned him inside out.

“I’m fine,” was his splintered retort. He shook off the hands staying him. As soon as he did that, he quickly realized what a colossal jerk he was being, so after slowly blowing out some air, he fixed his friend with an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry Darius. Thanks for coming here with me, for your support, and concern. Sorry you had to witness this pathetic side of me.”  

A half smile upturned Darius lips as his hands went up to cup his face; his amused eyes kind and understanding upon him. “Oh, bitch please, you have seen my worst plenty of times; it was about time I saw yours. But don’t stay like this for too long okay? A poet friend of mine once told me and I quote, ‘Life is too short to waste it holding grudges; it is always more beneficial to learn your lesson, pick up the pieces, and let kindness glue them back together.’”

His own lips now offered up a thin smile and he quipped, “Your friend is very wise, he should write a book.”

Darius smile widened at the same time his hands slapped his cheeks lightly, and Misha pushed him away playfully. But the pleasant moment didn’t last long, because a humorless look sobered him up. _Crap!_

“You’ve suffered enough already these past few months. Seeing you like this hurts Vicki and everyone who loves you. Jensen seems genuinely remorseful and he loves you Misha.” When he was about to protest, Darius shushed him and then continued. “As a person looking from the sidelines and not directly involved in the situation, I can tell right away that the man is gone for you. Yes, he fucked up; everyone makes mistakes, some worse than others. But everyone deserves a second chance or at least to be heard without interruptions.” His words were accompanied by a pointed look. “Sort out your _true_ feelings, don’t let your pride or wounded heart speak for you. Hear him out, do it for you, and use it as a way to begin to heal.”

Misha didn’t reply; he didn’t know how or what to say. He was still too shaken up by the encounter, still assailed by prickly emotions, but most of all, astounded by how in love he was with Jensen. Misha knew that he needed to make a decision soon, but he needed a little more time.

***

“He hates me Jared.” His trailer has become his main moping ground. The good memories Misha and he had made on this sofa were now a treasured collection of Polaroid pictures in the album of his mind.

“Misha doesn’t hate you dude. He might be pissed off, but hate you? Naw man, that’s not possible,” Jared sounded so sure, there was not a speck of doubt clouding his eyes, and that was dangerous, because it made a microscopic ember of hope come alive.

He tilted his head back and quaffed the half bottle of water he had in his hands. “A person can go from love to hate in matter of minutes. You say that because you didn’t see him. Jared, you should have seen his eyes, the way he spoke, how his face contorted with anger. His answers were snippy, cold. A few times I braced myself for a punch in the face, that’s how intense it was. I don’t know what to do man, I’m at the end of my rope.” His confession left him feeling as worn out as his voice sounded. He didn’t know how he was still standing.

“Jay, I know both of you very well and even if he had Cas’s power to smite you on the spot; he wouldn’t do it. I’ve witness more times than I care to remember, how crazy he’s about you. It’s just that, to be honest, the way you did things, even if you thought it was for the best, was extremely crappy.”

Yeah, no arguing that because it was true.

His gaze shifted from his best friend’s face to the crackling wood in the fireplace. He allowed his back to rest against the sofa and let his head fall back on the cushion. As his eyes let in the darkness, he voiced his thoughts.

“You’re way too optimistic about Misha’s feelings. And yes, I admit I screwed up big time. I cause this train wreck, but how can I begin to fix it when he doesn’t let me explain myself? What else can I do to show him how sorry I am? He basically told me to fuck off and give up.”

Jared turned in his seat and Jensen could vividly feel the holes being excavated on his face.

“And are you going to give up, just like that? After everything you guys have been through, you are just gonna give up. I can clearly picture Dean Winchester shaking his head at you and giving you his ‘you dumb sonuvabitch’ look. Jensen, don’t give up man, not now not ever. As long as he has feelings for you there’s hope.” The firm hand on his shoulder gave him a modicum of comfort and his lips quirked into a teasing smile.

“When did you get so wise, puppy? You’re all grown up now.”

“I’ve always been wise, but it takes too much effort, so I save it for important occasions,” Jared admitted jokingly with the biggest shit-eating grin.

A wan smile tugged the corners of his mouth, while his mind still replayed the disastrous meeting.

‘Chin up Jay, I’m sure things will sort themselves out.”

He wished more than anything else in the world, that God had his ears opened and had heard Jared’s words. If by a miracle he got Misha back, he will cling to him so tightly that only death would be able to separate them.


	9. ~Let’s Go Back To The Start~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, 
> 
> This is the last chapter before the epilogue. I would love to hear your thoughts on the story.

**_Come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry  
You don't know how lovely you are _ **

**_I had to find you_ **   
**_Tell you I need you_ **   
**_Tell you I set you apart_ **

**_Tell me your secrets_ **   
**_And ask me your questions_ **   
**_Oh, let's go back to the start_ **

**~“The Scientist,” Coldplay**

****

A handful of days had passed since that emotional cataclysm and Misha still felt slightly shaken. But his mental state had surprisingly become more stable and he had been able to think about Jensen, the breakup, possible causes that pushed Jensen to make that decision, and how he was also in part responsible for that decision. Everything started to descend to hell when he made that post on Twitter (though to be honest, before that, he had made other Jensen-related posts, but not as compromising as that last one). The truth was and it shames him to admit it, that he had been selfish and in a way chose to ignore Jensen’s wishes to maintain their private moments between them. Of course he didn’t do it with a malicious intent. He was just so used to being carefree with what he posted on his social media platforms, how he spoke, joked around, and displayed his ‘I don’t give a crap what you think of me attitude’ that he became blind to his partner’s fears and why he panicked. Misha had some apologizing of his own to do.

What bothered him that he couldn’t get over was how Jensen hid it from him and came to a conclusion on his own. Also, the way he dumped the responsibility of ending their relationship on Vicki oftentimes chafed him. Anger, while attenuated, still throbbed in his heart. His trust in Jensen had been damaged greatly, yet despite the torrential pain, he couldn’t deny his love for him. _But how does one begin to work towards repairing such a monumental mess?_ After all the purposely hurtful verbal jabs he threw at Jensen that day and literally telling him to give up; _how could I come around and tell him we need to talk?_

It was too awkward to even think it and kind of humiliating as well—no—he couldn’t do it. He’ll wait until Jensen reached out to him again. _But hold on a second_ , _what if Jensen took my words to heart and decided he has had enough of my rejections and had resigned himself to not being together?_ Oh God, I mean, Jensen had been a freakin’ coward, but he was Misha’s coward. He knew they had a lot of work to do to rebuild the trust that had been swept away, but—

His soliloquy was interrupted by a couple of consecutive knocks on the office door and his wife’s teasing voice.

“Are you decent?” The question caused a broad smile to leap up to his lips and he was caught off guard at how much lighter his entire being felt. Now that he had carefully thought things through, taken his time to organize his feelings, and face his emotions head on; he could see things clearer, even though the wound still pulsed.

Vicki, Darius, Dee, and even Betty (without knowing) had been right.

“Hold on, give me a minute,” he shoot back humorously, but Vicki was already walking through the threshold with Danni hot on her heels.

It didn’t really surprise him, since they were good friends, except that there was a sort of tension tracing the lines of their bodies. “Sorry to intrude on your date with your right hand,” sing- songed Danneel as she leaned in and stamped a noisy kiss on his right cheek.

A quiet chuckle fell from his mouth; the droplets of happiness felt good in his bloodstream. “No worries, she’s an understanding partner,” came his immediate reply at the same time he straightened in the chair.

His gaze traveled to the open door and then back to his wife, “Where’s our walking earthquake?” Misha noticed the not so inconspicuous look she and Dee had exchanged before he asked the question. Something was brewing.

“He’s fell asleep just now. Has your leg hurt you today?” This was extremely suspicious, not the worrying for him part, but their behavior; it’s like they were waiting to drop a trap on him at any given moment.

So he decided to get ahead of their plan and asked, whilst he leaned on his elbows, “What’s going on with you two? What are you planning?” His narrowed eyes minutely surveyed their expressions and body language, though neither of them was unnerved by it.

They both remained on their feet and close to him, literally flanking him, which only increased his suspicions. After exchanging conspirational looks once again, Vicki leaned back against the desk, hands splayed on either side as Dee followed suit. Dear God what now? Did something happen? It mustn’t be anything bad, because their faces didn’t look alarmed.

Misha was about to speak when Vicki’s modulated voice sealed his lips. “Misha, many awful things have happened to you these past few months. We have all lived them with you; I have seen firsthand your emotional and physical distress; I have seen you become victim of the pain and anger and misery of heartbreak. We don’t want to and can’t bear to see you like this any longer. And I know you must be tired of hearing the same speech over and over again, but it’s time for you and Jensen to sit down and have a serious conversation,” she concluded, all the while her eyes remained locked with his.

Misha wasn’t even done processing her words when Danni quickly added, “That’s why we decided to take matters into our own hands. I reserved a hotel room under my name at the Beverly Hills Marriot on S Beverly Drive. It’s very low-key, you won’t find any paparazzi snooping around because ‘celebrities’ usually go for the more luxurious accommodations, plus we drove around just to make sure. Also the veil of night is in your favor and you can wear a cap and glasses to help disguise you.”

After a pause and a brief session of lip chewing, Dee uttered, “Jay is already there.”

Apparently he wasn’t allowed to contribute his opinion, because as soon as Dee was done Vicki spoke again. “We don’t want to pressure you into something you are not ready for, but if you could just talk, it would help you both so much. I think-”  

“Okay.” The look on Vicki’s and Dee’s face was priceless and if his nerves weren’t trying to quake his body apart, he would laugh at their comical expressions.

God, this is the opportunity he was waiting for and if Jensen was there then it meant he was still interested. But maybe he was there not because he wanted to talk things out, but to tell him he was done begging. His derailed thoughts were brought to a stop by his wife’s dumbfounded tone of voice.

“What?”

Misha’s downcast eyes ascended to settle upon quizzical ones. Vicki’s pinched brow prompted him to speak. “I said okay. I’ll go.” He needed to get back his bearings, because whispering wasn’t a thing you did when having a serious conversation. But first he had to sever the noose wrapped around his neck.

“Thank God!” Dee exclaimed relieved, while her left hand squeezed his right upper arm and her free hand reached for Vicki’s shoulder. The unfeigned smile that sprawled her nude-colored lips warmed his chest. His left hand moved to cover hers on his arm and he let his lips imitate her smile.

“Really? Just like that? No excuses or a list of reasons why you couldn’t do it?” Vicki’s disbelief was quite entertaining and at the same time sad, because she had gotten used to her words (concerning Jensen) to fall on deaf ears.

“Yes, just like that, no more excuses,” he replied, while his hand held hers and squeezed lightly.

“Miracles do happen after all, huh? And I had this long, emotional speech planned…” came her playful lament coupled with a grin that would put the Cheshire cat to shame.

“Should I listen to it then?”

“No!” The energetic twin reply startled him a bit, but he didn’t have time react before he was being pulled out of the chair and out the door.

“You need to go now. It’s getting late and Jay has been waiting for quite some time. I will let him know you’re on your way.” These were Dee’s last words before he was ushered inside his car.

“We left a present in the right bedside table, but don’t open it until after you have talked.” The twin smirks, mixed-in winks, and impish looks directed at him made a flock of disorganized thoughts flash through his mind.

What had they left there? Curiosity moved him to start the car, yet the exorbitant degree of his desire to see Jensen was what pushed him to drive.

***

Waiting for someone you really wanted to see and you weren’t sure if they would show up was worse than any medieval torture. When the girls had told him their plan, he had thought it was sweet but farfetched, because the last time he had seen Misha and talked to him, he had made it perfectly clear that he wanted nothing to do with Jensen. But just now he had received a text from Dee, telling him Misha was on his way and willing to have a serious talk. He still couldn’t believe it; it sounded too good to be true, and his mind and heart struggled to reconcile this new development. His stomach was a mess of disgruntled carps and his mind couldn’t hold a single thought for a microsecond before the next one would hit him. His skin prickled to the point of aching and his heart stood suspended by a spindly thread in the zenith of his chest—least to say every part of his body from the inside out was on edge.

Jensen was tired of staring at the light gray walls and gazing outside the large pane window— nothing outside was interesting enough to hold his attention; not even the fascinating starry sky or the city lights. The queen sized bed called to him as stray thoughts rumpled the white sheets and painted images that made his cock twitch. Immediately, he ripped his eyes from the offending piece of furniture and looked out the window for who know how many times in the last thirty minutes. He needed to quench his naughty desires and focus on the important conversation ahead. The erotic images had left his mouth parched, so he rose to his feet and walked three steps to the minibar under the TV stand. As he swallowed almost an entire water bottle, he prayed Misha would come soon.

Misha paused in front of the door for a few seconds and drew in a nervous inhale. He hadn’t even had the chance to change out of his washed out jeans and black ACDC t-shirt, at least he had shaved this morning but his hair must be a messy nest. A bit self-consciously, he tracked his somewhat cool fingers through his hair, which only made it messier. Once his breathing was under control and his walloping heart had calmed down, he swiped the card. When he pushed the door open, he found a standing Jensen fidgeting in front of the cream colored sofa. Gray fitted jeans, a white graphic t-shirt, a long sleeved navy blazer, and black boots. _God, he was so beautiful!_ Before Jensen that word has been exclusivey for women, art, nature, music, and animals; to him men were attractive, handsome or good looking, but not beautiful. After meeting Jensen the meaning of that word changed for him, because he not only commanded the aforementioned words, but the latter. But enough, this wasn’t the time to be lost in a reverie.

He walked inside and locked the door behind him all the while maintaining eye contact. Misha thought it would feel strange to gaze into those golden flecked mossy meadows, but it wasn’t so. They were somewhat dulled by emotions he knew too well and then some. Did his eyes reflect the state of his being as well? The room was compact, but immaculate and aesthetically pleasing. He appreciated the large window and tried not to pay much attention to the bed because of reasons. But anyway, how the room looked wasn’t as important as the man in front of him; the death grip Jensen’s hands had on an almost empty water bottle said it all. They were both nervous and for some reason that knowledge down poured serenity over him. He didn’t know what to do with his hands; they were hanging on his sides, itching for activity.

“Hello,” Misha greeted. His voice stable and controlled.

“Hi,” his heart thundered in his ears at the sound of Jensen’s husky voice. Last time he heard it, he had been too infuriated and confounded by a flood of conflicting emotions to let it wash over him.

“Do you want to sit down?” Jesus, he didn’t know how he had managed to keep his voice from breaking, this was nerve-racking.

Jensen could barely keep eye contact with the midnight blues that effortlessly robbed his lungs of all their oxygen with a glance. And in his expert opinion, no one else could make that t-shirt look better; he still remembers the day he bought it for Misha, it had been a birthday present. The fact that Misha didn’t get rid of it after what happened made his heart do consecutive somersaults.

“Yes, thanks,” Misha’s voice had lost the sharp obsidian edge from a few days ago. And his body language while a smidgen tense was more serene and laid back. It boosted Jensen’s hope from candlelight to a torch of intense flame.

Both of them took a seat on the sofa, leagues away from one another. His body fought to eradicate the distance, but he reigned in the urge with iron grip. Jensen turned in his seat, his hands intertwined; lest they reached for Misha’s splayed ones on his thighs. How much had he missed those skillful fingers and their expert touch, their fevered heat and firmness—he had missed every part of this man as if they were his own. In these past few months, innumerable times he had woken up with the ghost of Misha’s touch on his afire skin, only to realize it had been an evil orchestration of his deluded mind.

“How’s your leg?”

Misha’s tranquil eyes glimpsed down to his lower left leg, before they came back to imprison his. “Better, still hurts sometimes. It’ll take a while to fully heal, but therapy has helped a lot.”

Jensen could listen to that voice for days on end. He had yearned for it like a madman at the edge of a cliff. And he wished with all he had that he could kiss that hurt leg better. Guilt still ran rampant inside his heart; because no one could convince him he wasn’t at fault for the accident. Thank goodness nothing more serious had happened to Misha, if it had, he wouldn’t have been able to live with it.

“That’s good, um, so you can’t go running yet?” The combination of Misha’s head shake and pouty lips were a critical hit to his heart. His eyes gorged on every small twitch and significant movement Misha made—all of them gifts he hoarded.

“My therapist says I have to wait a few more weeks, until my leg muscles loosen up more.” The slight irritation that stitched his tone was both endearing and saddening, because no one he had ever met enjoys running as much as Misha does.

“Better to wait a few more weeks, than to get it injured again and not run for months, right? Hmm, do you want something to drink?” He was stalling yes, but how was he supposed to delve into _that_ conversation?

“Yeah, that’s true. Nothing to drink for me, but thanks. So…” This was exceedingly awkward and Jensen looked like a kicked puppy—not a good combination. God help him, because the only thing he wanted to do was tug him close, cradle those freckled cheeks, and consume those strawberry-red lips. How could he approach this smoothly? Misha wished he could have had a few more hours to prepare for this talk.

“I’m so sorry for everything I did Misha.”

Those words effectively yanked him out of his pondering and directly into the epicenter of the conversation. His shoulders automatically tensed and his mouth turned into a sand dune, at the same time his hands twined and his heart was lassoed by a repentant, downcast glance.

“Sorry for letting my fears and the possible opinions of others push me into ending our relationship. How I did it was shameful, and I know a thousand apologies to you and Vicki won’t be enough to make things better. I screwed up big time and didn’t uphold what I promised in our contract to you. I decided everything on my own and hurt you in more ways than one. Your accident is on me. If I hadn’t asked Jared to put me on the phone that day, you wouldn’t have-” Misha’s fiery fingertips on his hand halted his words and his heart skidded as if it had hit a patch of ice.

“You weren’t responsible for my accident,” Misha voiced firmly with a look that sizzled his flesh. Jensen wanted to protest, but the fingers encircling his left wrist tightened a bit. “Yes, I was thinking about you and the voicemails you left and hearing your voice had stirred my emotions, but I was the one who decided to go out biking in such a state. So no, my accident isn’t on you.” Those words alleviated his heart if only a modicum; he will need more time to get them through his head and believe them.

“I was overwhelmed with fear; fear that I would forget where we were and kiss you or hug you in public. I feared we would get caught making out in a dark corner at a con or fucking in a bathroom. I was terrified of exposing our relationship and feeding what we hold dear to the wolves of the press. I thought of my parents and what they would think, about West, Vicki, and Danneel and about our careers. I freaked out and didn’t think of how my ‘good intentions’ would hurt you. I know nothing excuses what I did and I don’t want to make excuses for myself, but during that time those were the only thoughts that filled my mind.” Jensen’s right hand was begging him to let it cover Misha’s, but remorse tethered his desire. He didn’t deserve the comfort.

Instinctively, he wanted to soothe Jensen’s pain; he wished to make that dolorous expression on his face disappear from existence and rub circles on his back until every bead of stiffness had evaporated. But he couldn’t. Misha couldn’t because words needed to be had no matter how agonizing it was, so he sat still as he faced Jensen and casted his eyes on that inconsolable profile.

“I sacrificed you for my peace of mind, but the ironic thing was that not once during this time apart was I at peace.” The confession was a fractured susurration, so fragile he could hear the pieces falling; its sound coalesced with his heart and the potpourri of feelings clashing inside.

Misha wet his lips and let his left hand rub his thigh to calm his nerves. “Why didn’t you tell me all of this before you made your choice? I would have listened to you and we could have worked together to make sure things didn’t get out of hand. I wouldn’t have been mad at you Jensen. And aside from the way you chose to end our relationship, one of the things that tormented me the most was that _you didn’t trust me_. You didn’t have _faith_ in me to protect us and the people we love. I even came to think that your feelings for me had been fake, that what we had had been an experiment to you.” All of those thoughts had venenated his blood to the point of causing nightmares. Many nights he had lay awake and refused to close his eyes; lest Jensen’s voice confirm his thoughts.

At his last words, Jensen’s head snapped up and turned towards him so fast his bones popped. The wild look in his eyes and his agape mouth as his head shook from side to side punched all the air out of Misha’s lungs. And at the same time his fingers tightened around Jensen’s wrist, Jensen’s right hand clutched his left upper arm— the touch, a supplication on its own. Jensen’s touch after so long felt like a mithridate against the residual poison coursing in his bloodstream; he welcomed it unabashedly, so much so that his eyelids fluttered close.

“How could you have thought that, Misha? I did not do what I did because I didn’t love you. Not for a second have I doubted my feelings for you nor your feelings towards me. Well, after the fucked up shit I did, I thought you hated me but…um, I know I should have told you, but I panicked. I wanted to do what I thought would be the best for everyone and I just ended up causing a huge clusterfuck. But I have learned my lesson Misha; all these months without you have been a constant nightmare. If it wasn’t for Dee, I don’t know how I would have survived them.” He desperately hoped Misha believes him, because each word was as truthful as they come.

Not a fleck of doubt sprinkled those green irises; they gazed at him unwavering and pure. A batch of seconds passed before he spoke, their eyes still enslaved to each other. “I also had time to think things through after I got a hold of my emotions, and I was also in part responsible for what happened.” He saw Jensen’s lips begin to part with a protest, but a light squeeze on his wrist sealed his lips. “Yes, I was, because I knew how important privacy was to you and I didn’t respect your wishes to protect it. I let the high of my happiness blind me and for that I am sorry.”

Jensen didn’t expect those words and he didn’t know what to say; he was better at actions than words. But he needed to reply and also ask an important question. He swallowed down some of his nervousness, and then in the steadiest voice he could muster he uttered, “I was also high on happiness and I want that feeling again. Misha, do you forgive me?”

To say his heart was like an out-of-control helicopter was an understatement and it quickly began to go into a nosedive when Misha rose to his feet. _Oh no, please no._ He wanted to follow suit, but his legs were momentarily maimed by dread. His eyes on the other hand, honed in on Misha’s handsome albeit tired face and waited for his answer.

Misha’s body trembled lightly with a mixed undercurrent of anxiety and joy; from head to toe and from the inside out, he felt a cloudburst of serenity. Yet some of the venom still remained. He turned to face a sitting Jensen and the worry emanating from those eyes almost knocked him down to the floor. The desperate hands on Misha’s sides were almost at the brink of rebelling.

“I forgive you, Jen.”

Was he hallucinating or has Misha really said he forgave him? Called him Jen again? He wasn’t sure, but he immediately stood up and erased the two steps distance between them.

“Did I hear right? You forgive me?” He murmured as their breaths intermingled and his arms struggled to stay still.

“Yes, I do, but-” _Shit! Of course there was a but, there was always a but._ Jensen tried not to let that knife-like word slash his hopes. “But there’s still lingering anger and pain. After all that has happened, it’s clear that we need to work on communicating better with one another, as well as being honest to each other.”

Jensen nodded his head, “Yeah, I couldn’t agree more, but thank you for forgiving me. I-I still can’t believe it.” He needed proof that this was real and not a figment of his imagination, so he dared to ask, “Can we kiss?”

 _Can we kiss?_ That question was a direct hit to Misha’s heart, because seriously, how can a grown ass man be so adorable?! _Can we kiss?_ He has been holding back his desire to kiss Jensen since he walked into the door.

No spoken answer crossed the air as Misha leaned in and erased the hairsbreadth between them. All the while, his arms encircled around his lover’s waist and J’s hands clung to his upper arms; their lips fused in a kiss that was soft but urgent, ravenous but controlled—it was a weird cocktail that made him delirious. The series of touches and licks and sucks and nips were so timid his heart nearly detonated from the emotions swelling it to its limit. After they came up for air, arms and hands remained secured on one another, their foreheads pressed against each other while they caught their breaths. Misha had missed looking into those eyes and seeing all the green trees on Earth reflected in them; no starry night has ever captivated him as much as the golden-dusted stars twinkling inside those irises.

Misha’s eyes must have drifted closed while he was lost in thought, because the next thing he felt were Jensen’s arms as they coiled around his neck. His eyelids parted and he was mesmerized once again.

Jensen gaze remained bound to his favorite shade of blue and while his saliva slicked lips hovered over savory ones, he said in an undertone, “Freebird.” He wished on every shooting star crossing the moonless night that his wish would be granted.

A shaky breath and a whispered, “No,” were pointy arrows to his heart. “We can’t, it’s too soon for that.”

“Why? I thought you said you forgive me.”

“And I do, I truly forgive you, but trust is vital in that kind of dynamic. Trust needs to come from both sides.” Misha wanted nothing more than to resume their Dom/sub relationship, but it wasn’t that easy.

“But I trust you; always have, despite what happened.” Jensen knew he sounded like a brat, but he couldn’t understand why Misha would think he didn’t trust him in this.

“You do, but I don’t, at least not like before. And I won’t be sure if you will agree and take what I give you because you really want it or because you want to make amends. Also, I don’t think right now I can be the dom you need. I can’t trust myself to not be rough with you.” That side of him had been thrusted into a forced sleep and it was slowly awakening, growing ever hungry for his sub. And he will have his feast, but not today.

“Be rough with me Mish, this isn’t something new. We have done it before. I have begged you for it.” At Misha’s head shake and apologetic hands lightly squeezing his waist, his chest constricted painfully.

“It won’t be a playful or teasing rough, Jen. I think it’s safer and healthier if we leave that side of ourselves out of this…”

Jensen’s felt his face crumple as a deafening gulp filled the space and his arms frosted in place just like his heart.

“For now,” his lover’s gravelly voice added. And those two words coupled with the chaste kiss to his bowed forehead, were a breath of life to his dwindling hope.

J’s head snapped up as his tongue peeked out of his mouth to lick his lips. Misha’s predatory gaze followed the movement and Jensen felt his man’s dick come to life. His breathing stuttered at the same time he was tugged impossibly close to a well-toned body; the hands splayed on his lower back commanded all his thoughts— their touch was condensed sun-fire burning him alive. But what made his erection strain against his jeans were Misha’s next words whispered into his left ear.

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t have fun. _I want you Jen_ , **_now_**.”

“Mmm, fuck.” An almost too violent chill shook him from head to toe and his knees buckled, but strong hands kept him standing.

A sin-tinted chuckle spread goosebumps on his flesh and his nipples hardened at the same time a low moan floated out of his mouth. His hands clamped on Misha’s slender neck when his nose nuzzled his ear and trailed the side of his sensitive neck. He heard his partner’s deep intake of breath, which was immediately followed by a pleased noise. Jensen understood his feelings perfectly well, because to him, Misha’s earthy scent was an inebriating infusion that aroused his senses. An exchanged gaze that brimmed with voracious desire moved their hands to undress each other slowly; they were too clumsy and excited to stay in control. Their galloping heartbeats pulsed on their eager lips while they kissed softly and fingertips caressed emblazed skin, as if they were exploring unchartered terrain.

Their clothes fell haphazardly on the gray chevron print rug and without remembering when his feet had moved, Jensen found himself sprawled on the pristinely made bed; his head propped on a couple of fluffy pillows. The skin-to-skin contact was like flint striking tinder and the weight of Misha’s body on top of him while his arms caged his head, made pre-come dibble from his slit. His hands were down on an exquisitely sculpted ass, palming it and grinding it down on his erection. A lengthy groan from his mouth collided with his lover’s warning growl and instinctively his head tilted back at the same time his eyes shut close. _If this keeps up, I’ll come untouched_ , the thought flashed through his mind.

Desirous tongues swirled and explored every inch of each other’s scorching mouths, as if wanting to taste all the flavors they had missed these past few months. Meanwhile, playful nips and rapacious sucks made reddened lips tingle pleasurably, as well as elicit more sinful noises from their throats. It wasn’t until their lips parted and a cool lungful of air somewhat dispersed the passion that sea-misted his mind, that Jensen realized something very important.

“Crap, we don’t have lube or rubbers.” He said in a breathy voice laced with dismay, eyes still closed. _Dammit, this fucking sucks, I’m gonna die if we have to stop._ But when he opened them, his hope was rekindled by Misha’s confident smirk.

“Oh, I don’t think we have to worry about that, because I suspect a couple of elvish creatures took care of that for us.” As he spoke, his lover scooted over to the edge of the bed and pulled open the bedside table drawer. Jensen’s brow furrowed momentarily, but his confusion immediately dissipated when he saw a small paper bag with a yellow sticky note on it, and the word ‘Enjoy’ written in Danneel’s familiar handwriting. The gesture made him love her more than he already did.

When Misha emptied the bag, a small bottle of lube and a box of non-latex, lubricated condoms fell next to his head. A sigh he didn’t remember holding in, but that broiled his lungs rushed out of him and his muscles relaxed. At that, the hot-as-hell man draping his body beamed at him and his eyes watered; he tried and failed to blink the tears away. As they streamed down his aflame cheeks, Misha’s fingertips tenderly swept them away, while his lips kissed their trail.

“Are you okay?” The tears he had shed where now part of Misha’s voice; he still couldn’t believe this was real.

“Yeah, it’s just that I didn’t think…” His voice faded away as one of his hands glided up a taut back, and the other came up to run its fingers over clean-cut features. They finger painted each other’s faces with light brushstrokes, drank their fill of joyful tears, and eat a plenitude of ‘I missed yous’ as they chimed out of bee-stung lips.

The emotional moment didn’t ebb their sharp desire, on the contrary, their lengths stood proud and wanting. But when a flash of pain crossed Misha’s face and tensed the line of his shoulders, he took action. “I think it’s better for your leg, if we do it like this today.” As he uttered those words he wrapped his arms around his lover and turned them over. Now his partner was on his back and he on top; he couldn’t wait to get this going.

“Aren’t we bold tonight? I like it.” Misha’s praise tickled his submissive side and made his cock twitch. He desperately needed one of those hands playing with his nipples and the other coiled around his dick, but he also wanted those fingers stretching his ass and that mouth on his lips. Jensen wanted it all at the same time and the impossibility of it made his skin buzz.

“You’re thinking too much Jen, stop and just enjoy. Turn around and lift your ass.” The commanding tone was gasoline to the fire pit down in his belly. They weren’t dom and sub right now, but it didn’t matter because every part of him took pleasure in the command. He almost hit Misha on the face with one of his feet as he turned, that’s how excited he was. As soon as he turned, expert hands palmed his butt cheeks firmly and he wished they would spank him like the last time.

The thick, long cock a few inches away from his mouth, beckoned him with its pre-come coated head. His tongue circled his mouth as if savoring the salty taste of it; the rich smell watered his mouth almost to the point of making him drool. If he could have just a taste, with a flick of his tongue he could easily scoop off the flavor his taste buds have been craving. Just when he was about to lean down, Misha’s voice sobered him up.

“No, you can’t suck my dick or flick your tongue at the tip… _this_ time; because if you do, the only thing thrusting inside your ass tonight would be my fingers.” At the last word, he felt one of his lover’s slender fingers circled his entrance and he gasped. When had Misha uncapped the lube and slicked his fingers, and most importantly spread his cheeks without him noticing?

“Ahhh, fu-” None of that mattered anymore, because Misha’s finger slowly teasing his wanting hole felt more than good. Once the finger had carefully loosened up the ring of muscle, it breached it and slid in with ease; a few thrusts and another finger joined in. They scissored and rubbed against the blazing walls, and the delicious sensation poured out more pre-come from his slit. His hands clutched the comforter as his chest heaved with rapid breaths and pants parted his lips.

“Oh Go- _Mish_ , mmm _more_.” His blood simmered in his veins at a temperature he thought would evaporate it, but he wanted more; he needed Misha’s dick so desperately his eyes clouded with tears. Vibrators and dildos, his fingers and prostate massagers were fantastic, but nothing could compare to the thickness, length, and feel of the real thing. A third finger filled him and a guttural moan shook him whole when experienced fingertips teased his prostate.

“ _Mish_ , Mi- oh!” He wished Misha had two cocks, because he wanted one filling his mouth and the other pounding his ass.

“Mmm, how I missed that lust-wracked voice. I want to hear it more, but my fingers aren’t enough, right _Jen_? Turn around and show me how much you want my cock.” Jensen’s mind didn’t have time to catch up to the titillating words, because suddenly his ass was empty and was being manhandled into a straddling position. He could feel a thin sheen of sweat spreading on his forehead and under his neck, as his flushed face became even hotter at the sight of Misha’s fingers wrapping a condom over his dick. Jensen wanted to bat away his man’s hands and replace them with his, but instead he curled them around his own straining erection, lest he would shoot his load. When Misha was done, after what felt like an eternity, he rasped, “Go ahead Jackles and fuck yourself.”

“ _Yes, mmm_ ,” Jensen mewled. He didn’t have to be told twice and straight away he arranged himself to take that swollen cock inside of him.

Slowly, he sank down on his lover’s throbbing erection; one of his hands splayed open over a solid chest whilst the other entwined with Misha’s left one. Once seated, a moment passed before he started moving at adagio tempo; their gazes didn’t wander not even for a split second and he relished in the darkened irises consumed by passion. His hips thrusted up and down and then circled; he undulated them encouragingly trying to persuade Misha’s to join in on the fun, but that little bastard had more control than anyone else he knew. What his lover did do was smooth his free hand up Jensen’s stomach (purposely avoiding touching his dick), all the way up his perky left nipple. Nimble fingers pinched and pulled and rubbed and twisted the nub with mild force. The different sensations sped up his movements and tensed his thighs; gasps, groans, and moans bounced off the walls to compose a desperate song.

“ _Fucki---,_ I’m ahhh, _Mish_.”

Jensen’s song quickly ascended into a crescendo, when his man’s sharp thrusts punched out every breath he took. Misha thrusted up relentlessly in tandem with Jensen’s rolls of hips; a cacophonous noise ringed his ears and his hands tightened on Misha’s chest and in his left hand. Their mixed-in colognes and musky sweat, the smell of pre-come and his lover’s voice as his long fingered-hand began to stroke his cock, sent his heartbeat into overdrive and arched his back.

“Let go Jen, I got you.” The raspy voice saying those words was the path of flammable liquid his orgasm followed as it ran fleet-footed through him.

“ _Mish_ , _Mish,_ _Mi-_ mmm.” His movements ceased at the same time his head tilted back and a throaty cry of pleasure raked through his body. The hand pumping his dick kept at it as he rode out his whirlwind orgasm. As his inner muscles began to tighten around his lover’s cock, he felt Misha’s muscles tense. He swallowed hard through his ragged breaths and opened his eyes, and then began to move again at a fast rhythm. Jensen didn’t want to miss the ravishing sight of his Mish as he unraveled gloriously under him. A couple of thrusts combined with a strong clench of his ass caused his lover’s hips to stutter. He basked in the knowledge that the fingers curled around his left hip would leave some nice imprints.

“Oh, mmm, _Jen_ , _Je_ -” Hearing that nickname coming out of those lips so brokenly dragged out a full body shudder. Instantly, he was embosomed by firm, warm arms and welcomed by marmalade-flavored lips.

Love and apologies could fix broken hearts and heal deep wounds to an extent, yet they weren’t a cure-all. To earn back lost trust; hard work, time, and better communication was necessary. It might be a slow process, but with the support of their wives and friends, and a _whole lotta of love_ , everything between them could only get better.


	10. ~Epilogue: Angeles~

_**I could make you satisfied in everything you do** _   
_**All your secret wishes could right now be coming true** _   
_**And be forever with my poison arms around you** _   
_**No one's gonna fool around with us** _   
_**No one's gonna fool around with us** _   
_**So glad to meet you** _   
_**Angeles** _

**~“Angeles,” Elliott Smith**

** Epilogue: Angeles **

Who would have thought that after the heart-wrenching ending of their relationship and a tentative beginning afterwards that their feelings would be renewed and fortified? Of course they still went through days where they had disagreements and fought, but nothing remotely close to the disastrous trainwreck all those years ago. What was ironic was that now they had more to protect, because he and Vicki also had Maison and Jensen and Dee had JJ. But the more they had on the line, the closer and stronger they became.

Throughout the years, they had grown more comfortable with the practically nonexistent personal space between them. Their gazes lingered, magnetized on one another as they whispered so close to each other their noses could effortlessly smell the cologne and aftershave on each other’s skin. The touches were also more daring: arms looped around each other’s waists and over relaxed shoulders, plenty of not so accidental hand caresses and private parts grinding (on stage, in front of overexcited fans). Dirty jokes as well as ones to which they only knew the meaning were also frequently exchanged. And when his Jen told lame jokes, he would listen with rapt attention, and mouth them together with him. Even kisses on the cheek and face stroking, hair petting and grooming in public had become the most natural things; the latter, a habit Jensen has taken up recently and which he enjoyed a bit too much. And Misha loved it.

Toothy smiles, childish giggles, and wreaths of laughter were always at the surface of their lips. They could also add a pretend kiss on the mouth to their increasingly brazen moves; brazen because it had been far from pretend, under the cover of his hand and Jensen’s strategic head turn, their tongues had a brief encounter. The nicknames they had for each other weren’t a secret anymore (Mishka, Mish, cabin boy, green-eyed grasshopper, and more), except for a couple they exclusively reserved for the bedroom. Head/shoulder nuzzles were also common gestures they enjoyed to exchange with each other. Words that spoke of their feelings towards one another were often times voiced for all to hear, be it on purpose or accidentally; people could believe what they wanted, it didn’t bother them.

_“Rome is a very special place to us”_

_“It warms the cockles of my heart, words chosen carefully”_

_“It’s nice because I feel there’s this angel standing over me”_

_“This guy may be a tool, but he’s my tool”_

_“I love you, Misha, I mean, honestly, from the bottom of my heart”_

_“With you it’s like – my friend and protector”_

_“I like when people include Misha”_

_“Misha is the funniest thing that’s ever happened to me”_

As they waited to greet the fans at Jibcon16, standing so close their shoulders pressed against one another and their fingers brushed reassuringly; they recalled that night so many years ago and the dreams they spun in their sleep. Dreams where their relationship was healthier and their love plentiful and more mature. Jensen was relieved he had the courage to face his fears and not give up on their relationship even when things looked hopeless. Misha thanked his wife and friends for knocking some sense into him and pushing him to reconsider his decision. The devotion they felt towards each other shone brighter when dark days ambushed them. Never again would they allow fear or anger push their love to break them apart.

“Ready to face the crowd, Jackles?” Misha questioned as his eyes twinkled enthusiastically with the smile that embellished his lips.

A cocky smirk and a devastatingly charming wink made his heart flutter. “With you, even an army of demons, Mish.”

“Now who’s the sap?” he retorted with a grin so wide it made his face hurt.

“I learned from the master.”

Misha leaned in closer to his lover and whispered hot into his right ear, “Mmm, _master_ , I like the sound of that word on your lips. I want to hear it again tonight as I spank your ass red.”

But before Jensen could recuperate from the low blow, their names were announced and Misha sauntered ahead. As he did, Misha basked in the lustful dark gaze that followed his back and the scarlet freckled cheeks that branded his heart.

“Aren’t you coming, Jen?”

 

~FIN~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it guys, thanks for reading and I hope you liked it. If you did please share, spread the word. I would love to hear your thoughts on the story; your feedback means a lot to me. 
> 
> You can find my other Cockles Fanfics [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kairat11/works?fandom_id=2031)
> 
> Until next time :D
> 
> ~Kat~

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated :D


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